prcng-s‌:

     ‘Distracted?’

Something in his chest flared up at the word, defensively, as if he hadn’t literally just been thinking it a second before, as if, if Peter realized he was distracted, he’d know suddenly about the ring, would try to take it from him, like Caradoc kept doing, like anyone would do if he let anyone else find out what he was working on… Who knew who else Caradoc had told, who else she’d shown it to, how many other people might try to take it from him—or from her, while she had it, unsafe in her hands when she didn’t even have a wand to protect it like he did…

He needed to throw Peter off the scent of it, and fast, make something else up, some other reason for Peter to think he was distracted, some other thing to be distracted about, so his friend wouldn’t question why his hand kept drifting to his pocket when he was here, like he was double checking to make sure it was still there.

     ‘Er, right, I suppose I am. Just…. worried about Sirius, is all.’

It came out a little hollow, a little less than sincere, but he hoped Peter wouldn’t notice the difference—he was worried about Sirius, after all, but somehow distantly, not all-consuming in the way it might have once been. Once, James Potter would have stormed the border himself to get his brother back the moment he heard something had gone wrong. But… that was when he had been seventeen and thought he was the only important thing in the world, before Dumbledore’s plan, before he’d accepted that it was so much bigger than them all. And… if you can only understand this ring, a voice at the back of his head kept saying, you’ll save Sirius anyway, no matter what happens. You’ll save them all. You’ll be a hero. 

So it had been wrong to even mention it. It was clear as day that he wasn’t exactly pleased about him asking what was distracting him, and he understood, no, he really did, but that didn’t make it sting any less when all he wanted was even just a fraction of what he used to have with him. But that was selfish, that was asking too much. It was a miracle James even wanted to spend any time with him at all, that he’d been something close to glad that he was back across the border, he shouldn’t have been expecting anything more than that. Hell, he would have understood if James stopped showing up, if he changed his mind. That didn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt, though.

His response didn’t sound quite right, which was confusing to say the least. It would’ve made sense if it was Sirius that was distracting him. Peter himself was terrified for his friend, knowing exactly what it was like to be hunted by the other side, to have to dodge and run, to fear for your life, but knowing that there was nothing else to do but try, if there was to be chance to help, or even just live. Sirius was braver, bolder, stronger, and he’d done it for someone else, he had to be okay, because it wouldn’t be fair if he wasn’t, and Peter was.

Peter shook that thought from his mind, and tried to shake the feeling that James still wasn’t being entirely honest with him.

“I get it, but... if I can make it across the border all the way to the castle, away from them, then Sirius can, too. He’s stronger than I am, smarter. I’m just a rat, and I made it. And, hey, maybe by the time he makes it here, Mary’ll have figured out how to get rid of the Mark,” he offered, trying for optimism. His hand moved unconsciously to rub his forearm. “I think we’re getting pretty close.”

prcng-s‌:

He was distracted, on his way up to the castle—he’d been going up twice a week or so, since Peter had turned up, knowing that until they’d solved the Dark Mark problem Pete couldn’t actually leave the castle without risking his life and everyone else’s. He got grumpy, up there, trapped like a rat, all on his own, and at first James had been up there almost every day. But with Lily so busy, someone needed to be around to take care of Harry, and James had all but become a house husband, and between that and working with Caradoc, the visits had spaced out a little more than he’d hoped.

Still, it was better than nothing at all. It was something. And sometimes it felt like Pete was all he had. With Sirius missing, Lily working round the clock, Remus on the rampage… his conversations with Pete a few times a week were the thing that kept him feeling a little bit normal. 

He shouldn’t, probably, have been distracted today: he had the ring safe in his pocket, a comforting presence that he kept finding his fingers wandering toward, hand slipping into the pocket so he could run the pad of his thumb across the smooth metal and the stone, a reassurance that it was where it was supposed to be. Usually, having it was enough to let him focus on something else. But he was still thinking about it, now, already dreading the next morning when he and Caradoc would be switching back—and why should he give it to her, anyway? Why should he let her have it when he was the one who’d been getting the notes, when her note had told her to give it to him?

     ‘Huh?’ he said, at the sound of Pete’s voice—he hadn’t even realized he’d made it all the way up to the castle, lost in his thoughts, let alone all the way to Peter. ‘Oh, the— right, er, suppose so. Hadn’t thought much about it yet.’

There was something else on his mind, that was easy for Peter to see by the way he completely ignored the treacle tart sat in front of him by a sweet house elf who remembered them from their own Hogwarts days. He had assumed that it was the vigil, and the news about Sirius, just two new items on the ever-growing laundry list of things to worry about. So it was a surprise when he finally answered, genuinely sounding as if he hadn’t even considered the vigil.

Peter frowned, a little more than confused, and now even more at a loss. “Really? Oh...” he trailed off, skeptically, eyeing James despite himself, searching for the unspoken answer on his face. Once upon a time, he had been so adept at reading James, that it was probably a little embarrassing. But so much had changed; he had changed just as much as Peter, in their time apart. It made his heart ache a little, knowing it wasn’t so simple anymore. It made him wish he’d been strong enough to keep on his course, or maybe cowardly enough not to go in the first place. Selfish, always so selfish.

He had to try, wanted to, because if there was even a small way he might be able to help, he would do it.

“You alright, mate? Not that I should...I mean, I know no one’s really alright at the moment, but you know what I mean... you just, I don’t know, you seem a little distracted?” he finished awkwardly, the end coming out as more of a question than he meant it to. It felt wrong to even mention it; he didn’t have a right to anything deeper than the surface, at least that’s what he felt like. But that didn’t mean he didn’t long for that right.

afternoon, before the vigil, the kitchens, hogwarts, december 20      @prcng-s​

It still didn’t feel quite real, like any given morning he was going to wake up with a wand to his chest, vindictive smiles surrounding him, and it’ll all be over again. He had dreams about that, dreams, not nightmares. Sometimes, in them, it was Lily standing over him, and all he would see is a flash of green light; other times, it was Remus, and harsh words he deserved, being sent back across the border to whatever could be waiting for him there. Every now and then, it was James. Those nights are the times he wakes up in a sweat, crying; those are the nightmares.

Because wasn’t how it was, somehow. James was glad he was back. The initial shock of his reaction had worn off, and he had let himself be cautiously hopeful with every visit from him, every moment he let him have of his life, when he didn’t deserve anything at all. It was hard to believe, but that was enough. Knowing that he had him, despite everything, made him even more determined to do anything he could to fix all the harm he’d caused. It made him want to keep living on the chance that he’d be allowed to have this even a little bit longer.

Something wasn’t right, though. At first, he had thought it was him; of course, it would be him, he was a traitor, and a coward, and a liar, nothing could be normal around him. But more time spent with James, that familiar intuition coming back like it had never left, and he was certain it was something else. Peter wasn’t sure he had any right to even ask, though, not anymore. 

James was quiet today, quiet in a way he never really had been before Peter had left, even as they sat on the too small stools, the house elves piling up snacks and treats for them to have. Peter had never been very good at this sort of thing, but trying felt a lot like making amends in a small way.

“Are going to the...you know, tonight?”

llilyevans-potter‌:

She doesn’t want to talk to him. She doesn’t want to look at him, even; being in the same room as him makes her want to throw up, hearing his voice makes her sweat. She always had her doubts about Peter–even when he was just an Order member, even when he was James’ best friend, James’ last friend left because Dumbledore sent off the rest. And then he sent Peter, too, except Peter turned against them. Peter was alive because he’d cared more about living–living any kind of life, even a terrible one–cared more about that than he cared about keeping everyone else safe.

But if she was who she wanted to be, she had to swallow the bile and do what was necessary. What she knew was right, even if it hurt her down to the very marrow to do it.

For a split second, Lily just stares at his wand. She hadn’t actually expected him to obey her. They’d never had a great relationship, Lily and Peter, and she had always suspected why but loved James’ loyalty to his friends too much to ever confront Peter about it. Maybe things were more desperate than she thought. Maybe he was more desperate than she thought. Somehow, that makes her feel worse about the whole situation.

She takes the wand like she’s sure of it, ignores the strange sensation it elicits in her magic-starved fingertips. Shoves it in her pocket, where he’d have to fight her to get it back, and by the looks of him he wouldn’t win a fight without magical intervention.

I have nothing left to lose, he says, and she doesn’t believe him, because it sure looks like he’ll do anything to save his sorry skin.

He’s still here, and he’s given her his wand, set himself at her mercy and Remus’ too. For better or for worse, she has to try to be a leader, try to be someone who’s earned that role.

“Tell me what happened. Why did you come back?”

He doesn’t have the energy to go through it all again, finally coming down from the adrenaline rush of Remus having woken him up, surprised him in his most vulnerable state, not prepared in the least to face the people he had hurt the most. It feels like he’s run a marathon, or that he’s been crying for hours, the way his body just feels so tired, breath a little too hard, everything slow and foggy. And the thing is, he knows that with Lily there’s nothing he’ll be able to say or do that will be enough. Hell, that’s what he’s expecting with everyone, now, given  everything he’s seen so far. 

It just makes him wish even more that someone would be brave enough to do what he hasn’t been able to do himself. More cowardly thoughts that he just can’t shake in the face of everything he’s fucked up. He had come back to try to be brave for once in his sorry life, and even that hadn’t worked, the chance destroyed before he even got it. He wasn’t stupid enough to believe that Lily, or Remus, or anyone else would have enough pity, or trust, to give him the chance Dumbledore was going to.

And so what was the point? 

Maybe the only way to do what he’d wanted now was to just give them the satisfaction of seeing him suffer for what he’d done. 

“Dumbledore shouldn’t have sent me. I’m too weak, too much of a damn coward. When they realized I was a spy, they tortured me. I wasn’t strong enough to give up my life, though, and they made me believe that somehow it might be better, to at least be seen. I regretted it from the moment I did it, but I was too afraid to know what to do,” he shakes his head. “They saw the worst of me, and encouraged it. Seeing the way they laughed at what I’d done to you all, it wore me down, made me want any chance to fix things; I wanted to leave, but I was too afraid. It took a long time to figure out how to get back without anyone noticing before I crossed the border, but I sussed it out because of Sirius doing the same.”

Peter pauses, trying to catch his breath, calm the way his whole body seems to be shaking. He can’t look her in the eyes. “I thought...I thought maybe if I made it back, and told Dumbledore everything I knew, everything I had told Riddle before he had the chance to use it all, maybe I could change things, even though nothing can take back what I did,” he explains, with a sigh, voice quiet. “He was gone before he could tell me what to do, though. But I still have to try. I’ve got nothing left, if I try, and fail, and you all decide I deserve to die instead, well, I deserve it. At least I’ll have tried.”

prcng-s‌:

He was closing the distance between them before he even realized he was doing it, three or for long strides through the echoing hallway and then he was pulling Peter into his arms, wrapping them around him, a tight hug that suddenly transported back to the last time they’d done this, the day he’d said goodbye to Peter before he left for England on Dumbledore’s orders, the way he’d rested his chin on top of Peter’s head so that Pete couldn’t see that he was crying as his final best friend went off to war without him, too. 

     It’s okay, he wanted to say, but he knew he couldn’t. It wasn’t okay. Remus was furious, Lily was furious, Peter had that damned Mark on his arm and there was nothing they could do about it, no way to erase the years that had elapsed or everything that had happened during them. But James had always been easy to trust, had grown up learning that that was a strength and not a flaw. No one else might have believed him, but if Peter said he was here to try to make up for what he’d done, than James believed him. 

     ‘I’m glad,’ he said, instead, his voice low and a little raw from the ragged feeling of tears at the back of his throat. ‘I’m glad you’re back, I’m–’ 

He let out a shaky breath before making himself pull away. In another situation, he might have tried to wipe the tears from his eyes before anyone could see them, but not now, not here. 

     ‘I missed you, Pete. I missed you.’ 

So distracted by seeing James in front of him again, the overwhelming emotions bubbling over the top and tumbling out, that he barely registered what James was about to do before his arms were around him in a tight hug. He responded in kind, without thought, so natural to be hugging James again. It made the warm tears well up, spill over, as he clung on as if this might be the last time all over again. He smelled good, and his head still fit so easily in the crook of his neck.

Never would he have guessed that this would be his reaction upon their reunion, but he was infinitely grateful for it, overwhelmed with what it felt like. He had expected something like what he had gotten from Remus, but a thousand times worse in James’s voice, to hear the disapointment, the anger, the hatred. Here he was, though, holding onto him like maybe he actually wanted him here, that he might want to give him another chance. And his words, he was glad.

It was all too much to take in, he could hardly comprehend it all. James had missed him. Even when he pulled away, Peter’s hands lingered on his arms, unable to let go now that he was here again. Looking him in the eye, hearing him saying that, it made him happier than he had been in years, and it made him sick thinking of how he didn’t deserve to be missed.

But he’d always been selfish.

“I missed you, too, more than I can...Merlin, I don’t...I don’t even know what to say. Are you...are you okay?” he asked, stumbling over his words, too distracted by the overwhelmingness of the situation, by the urge to reach up and wipe the tears from James’s eyes. “That’s a stupid question. I’m sorry, I just...I wasn’t expecting...”

insurgentmoody‌:

Al had always been a private person by nature, having been raised by aurors, she learned early on that the less people knew about you the safer you were. And so she made a point to keep the most private parts of herself locked away, carefully hidden under a meticulously kept, calculating and withdrawn exterior. The true nature of her heart, far softer than she would have preferred, was by far her greatest secret. Augustus saw glimpses of it, when she took her role as caregiver to something more closer to that of a parent. Peter had gotten awfully close to seeing it then, as he began to talk of the horrors that awaited him after Albus had sent him over the border. 

Suddenly, as she looked at him, she no longer saw the twenty-eight your old adult that sat before her, but rather the seventeen year old kid she first met all those years ago. Face stiffening, she strengthened the grip on her wand as he continued. She could feel her blood beginning to boil, not for what Peter had done precisely, but rather because he’d been put into the situation he was in the first place. Had Albus honestly thought that out of all the halfbloods in their ranks that Pettrigrew was the best candidate for what seemed to be a fool’s errand? For a moment she wondered if Peter defecting had been Albus’s plan all long, that somehow he knew what would happen in the very beginning. A few years ago she would have laughed at the very thought, but now, as she learned more and more of the various pieces to the wizard’s so called “great plan” it seemed more and more like a possibility. 

“You said it, not me,” she replied with a sigh, the venom in her tone being replaced with something more akin to exhaustion. “You said Riddle didn’t use what you told him, what was it exactly? Safe house information, names of Order members? How do you know for sure he never used it?” 

There was something unreadable in her face as he explained everything as best as he could. He wished that he had been better about reading other people, better at knowing what they were thinking. Maybe if he was, he wouldn’t have ended up where he was in the first place, maybe he still would’ve been living in Scotland, free, doing his best, with a clean forearm, and maybe a few more friends. No use thinking of the impossible, though, and so instead he considered her next questions. Lying didn’t seem like a wise choice here, but he also had no desire to give away his one safeguard so soon, when he hadn’t tested the waters, truly, yet. After all, he had always been so good at lying. Sometimes it felt easier 

“None of the ones I knew are dead, are they? None of those safe houses have been compromised, yeah?” he said, with a shrug. “If he wanted to do something, he would’ve by now. The higher ups got everything they could’ve wanted from me the moment they realized I was a spy and started the torture. I broke faster than I want to admit, but it’s the truth. Only name they didn’t get from me was Sirius’s. I know that doesn’t count for anything, considering everything else I did, but...I’ve got some loyalty, you know.”

Some loyalty. Like maybe he wouldn’t have been so quite to give Riddle the information the prophecy contained if he would’ve realized that he was going to consider James, consider Harry as who it was talking about. It was easier when it was abstract, easier when his only friends weren’t the ones in danger. And then it had been too late. But they were still safe, James was alive, so was Harry, and he hadn’t even heard whispers about Riddle following through on the words of the prophecy. But then, as far as he knew, no one else knew of the contents but him, Dumbledore, and Riddle. And that was terrifying, that no one else knew the Potters could be in worse danger, but him. There were plenty of ways to lie, though, to help.

“But, uh, whatever protection Lily’s got at the moment, I think she’s gonna need more. James and Harry, maybe even more so. He’s got his eyes on 'em; think he’s realized where the Order is heading now that Dumbledore’s kicked it. But I hear that’s not really your field anymore.”

The kitchens were the one place where he didn’t have to worry about being accosted at a moment’s notice. The house elves, at least most of them, didn’t seem to truly know what had happened, or perhaps they were too polite, still, to say anything that would show what they actually thought of the situation. Either way, there were plenty of them who still remembered him fondly from his school days, remembered how he had come so often to the kitchen, with and without the other Marauders. He had always liked the house elves, had thought it was so fucked that in the world it was just normal to have one or two around a pureblood house, it made his stomach turn to think of how they were used, but at least the elves at Hogwarts chose to be there. So he tried to be extra nice to them, and in turn, they were extra nice to him, too.

As such, though, it was supremely obvious when another wix came into the kitchens, and he was in the middle of eating a treacle tart, when he noticed the other wix, and nearly choked on the dessert. One of the elves near him gave him a valiant pat on the back, that didn’t really help, and only aided in rendering it impossible to run, or scurry away, before the vaguely familiar face made it to him. And then they sat down, going on and on without a chance for him to say anything, still recovering, coughing from the tart.

“Oh, uh...” he sputters, very eloquently, too shocked by the sudden appearance, yet alone everything they’ve said to truly say anything much more eloquent than that. It takes another few seconds of clearing his throat before he’s able to breathe properly again, and considering where running now would be the best plan or not. But he does recognize the name, knows the story they tell, who didn’t after all? What throws him even more is when they mention his curse. He knows which curse she’s talking about, of course, instinctually even goes to pull his left sleeve down a little more, even though it’s well hidden, not that it needs to be, everyone knowing well enough already.

“You’re, uh, here about my curse? I’m...well, I’m sorry, but this is a lot? Do you wanna look at it, or something? It’s not...it doesn’t look that interesting. It’s just, you know, fucked up that it’s there...Believe me, I know how fucked up it is that I let them do it, I don’t need a cursebreaker to tell me.”

location: hogwarts kitchens

time: late evening 

status: closed to @pcterpcttigrew​

The news had spread like wildfire once it hit the right ears. Peter Pettigrew, the infamous traitor of the Order, had returned. While most speculated his true intentions, and sneered at the very mention of the rat’s name, Mary saw an opportunity. The Dark Mark had been their white whale for the last decade, the one puzzle they itched to try to solve, but never had the opportunity to even attempt it. Those they knew who had the mark were all spies, who needed it in order to keep their cover. Those who would have liked to get rid of it, never would have had the opportunity to make it over the border without Riddle knowing it- that was until Pettigrew anyway. 

It took only a few words of kindness and a warm smile to talk one of the castle’s house elves into pointing them in the direction of the former Death Eater. Stepping through the kitchen doors his frame stood out immediately, being a couple feet taller compared to the dozens of elves scurrying about the kitchen. It wasn’t until then, as their eyes landed on the familiar face did they realize they hadn’t exactly planned for what to say to him. 

He looked so different compared to the wix they’d once known- although “know” may have been an overstatement. He was a few years their senior, one of the infamous marauders who were practically gryffindor royalty for those their age. They could remember in their third year even carrying a bit of a school kid crush on the older wix, a fact they were teased about endlessly by their friends who all drooled over James or Sirius. They hadn’t minded though, part of the whole charm was that he was the outsider in such a notorious circle of friends. Looking at him now, they still saw that outsider, although gone was rambunctious teen they once idolized, replaced with a haunted adult with the burden of mistakes visibly weighing on his shoulders. 

Figuring there wasn’t exactly a right way to approach him, they pushed themself forward not stopping until they were standing directly in front of the small table he was sitting at. “Peter Pettigrew, right?” they ask, before quickly answering themself, “Of course you are.” Pulling out one of the chairs designed for a creature clearly half their size, they sit down across from him. “I’m Mary MacDonald- yes that Mary,” they add, “and yes the curse is still intact despite the whole cursebreaker thing.” Lifting up their good arm they give a pat to their gloved one, which rested frozen against their side. “But I’m not here about my curse,” they grin, “I’m here about your’s.” 

He was getting better at the whole sneaking around without becoming a rat first, sort of thing, but it was still hard. Hard, only because he was paranoid that around every corner someone could be waiting to accost him, to punch him, stun him, beat him down and remind him of everything he already couldn’t forget himself. So he was jumpy, to say the least, even if there was no reason, just now, coming from the kitchens full and satisfied, thanks to all the house elves who still remembered him fondly from years and years ago. But he thought he was safe, hell, he was safe, until suddenly a figure appeared out of nowhere, his name said in such a familiar voice, it felt as if his heart had stopped dead.

He couldn’t breathe, he could scarcely even look at him, now, so close, after watching him from afar at the funeral, after thinking about him every night for years, thinking of how much he had hurt him, wishing he could do anything to change it, to take back the pain he had caused him. And now he was here. A cruel joke the universe was playing on him, refusing to give him a chance, over and over, to prepare for these meeting, especially this one. But maybe it was only fair.

It didn’t feel fair, though, looking back at James, seeing how much he had changed, and how much he hadn’t. Something between pain and need in his blurry eyes. It made Peter’s breathe catch in his throat, made it hard to swallow, hard to breathe. Made warm tears well up in his eyes, that he tried his damndest to will back.

“James,” he whispered, voice barely even loud enough for anyone to hear, something reverent to it, as he said his name, like he somehow hadn’t been expecting to ever get the chance to say it again. That’s what it felt like, after all. He wanted to step forward, wanted to run to him, wrap his arms around him and never let go, but he didn’t, instead stuffing his hands into his pockets, to try to hide the need. 

“Yeah...I came back to try to fix things...I know that’s not possible. I fucked up so bad, I hurt all of you, especially you, and...I’m sorry. I’m more sorry than I could ever say, or show. But...I’m back.”

     time. evening, 17 October      place. near the kitchens, Hogwarts           ( @pcterpcttigrew )

It took him almost half an hour, to find Peter in the castle. He’d thought about getting the Map from Remus’ office, making the whole thing easier, following it’s footprints to the name that would show him where Peter was. But he didn’t want Remus to stop him, didn’t want to see that look on his face again, eyes narrow, jaw clenched, the look Remus had had when he’d told James that Peter was here, that he really was here. 

But, after twenty or so minutes of searching, he came across the familiar form of his once-friend, exiting the kitchens, glancing about the hallways as if praying not to see a familiar face himself, and James couldn’t help himself as he pulled the invisibility cloak off and stepped into Peter’s line of sight. 

     ‘Pete.’

The sight of him, after all this time – after Dumbledore’s orders that sent him across the border, after Sirius’ report that Peter had betrayed them and joined the Death Eaters, after long nights spent in grief and despair wondering how his friend, someone he trusted could have done this – it took the breath from James’ lungs, like a punch to the gut. He looked older, looked tired and thin and angry, looked so much different than the boy James always remembered when he thought of him.

     ‘Remus told me you were here. He said–’ his voice broke, a little, through the tightness in his throat, so he swallowed and tried again. ‘He said you came back.’

It hadn’t sounded like a good thing, in Remus’ voice; had sounded like that dark, simmering fury that lay just below the surface of Remus Lupin these days, the one James tried his best to ignore. But the words he’d heard, he came back for Dumbledore’s help, said he made a mistake, said he wanted to make things right– no matter the tone, the words meant the same thing.

It meant they had another chance. It meant he might not have to lose another friend, all over again.

llilyevans-potter‌:

Lily’s never been the violent type, no. She has a temper, but she rarely solves problems with fists, not being the kind of person where a punch thrown would do anything more than invite a beatdown. She’s passionate but not stupid, and she has spent her entire life standing while others try to force her to her knees. And all she wants to do, right now, is hit him, punch him until her knuckles bleed and she feels vindicated in the traumas he’s complicit in. Maybe Peter didn’t cause anything that happened to her, but he knew what they all went through and made his choices anyway.

But this is not about her, and she’s not deluded enough to think that taking out vengeance on Peter Pettigrew will do anything to heal the never-healing wounds inside her. All Lily has to do is look at Remus and think about Sirius and James to know this has nothing to do with her. This is about the people he’s hurt and the wrongs he’s committed and her own desire to wipe the sniveling expression off his face and replace it with a bloody nose is something she needs to get over right now, because if she wants to lead the Order she’d better start being a fucking leader and not an emotional wreck.

She stops just short of crowding him and holds out a hand, palm-up. “Give me your wand,” she says, cold and still, fury raging but controlled for now. "If you want me to believe anything you have to say, give me your wand before you say it.” She’s not one for second chances, either, but Dumbledore was, and Peter here means Dumbledore let him in and Peter’s the only voice left to speak for their arrangement. But she won’t trust him until he’s as stripped of power as she was, when she first came here.

The terrifying thing, he realizes now looking at Lily as she stops just in front of him, is that he’s not sure how she’s going to react to anything he says. Even if it’s going to be a toss up each time he is reunited with someone again, he can predict what most people will do. Anger, usually just accompanied by harsh words spat at him, maybe the threat of a punch or two, but nothing far beyond that. Even his best friends, he’s fairly sure, wouldn’t do much more, and if they did, he wouldn’t fault them, hell, he wishes Remus had killed him in that tunnel, instead of calling Lily to pass his judgement.

And she surprises him, in his worry, instead of any of the expected reactions, asking him for his wand, holding a hand out expectantly, and he feels his heart hammer in his chest even stronger. It’s a trap. It has to be a trap, at least that’s what his exhausted, paranoid, fight or flight brain is telling him. There are a few options. She takes it, and she uses it to kill him. She takes it, and uses it to threaten-slash-torture him. She takes it, and she snaps it in half, and he’s suddenly even more useless than he already is to everyone. For some reason, that’s the worst option in his mind. To be here, utterly alone, around everyone he had hurt and betrayed, and suddenly powerless, it’s a terrifying thought. It makes him consider running, again, turning to a rat and leaving now. 

But he doesn’t, because he wants to try, has to. And he can’t help but hear the prophecy repeated in his mind, as he looks at her. With a deep breath, he pulls his wand from his pocket, and gives it to her, deflating a little as he does so, resigned to what may come next. “You can ask me whatever you want, do whatever you want to me. I have nothing left to lose. I came back to try to fix even an ounce of the harm I caused, and if it’s too late for me, then that’s your choice, it sounds like,” he says, voice flat, quieter now.

insurgentmoody‌:

“I can honestly say I have missed missed your’s too, Pettigrew,” she nodded, her smirk not leaving her features as she continued to point her wand in his direction. After he’d first left the Order, she’d had dreams of this moment, and all the delightful ways she could make him pay for the damage his treason no doubt had brought. And it would be easy, especially now, with him sitting only feet away from her, the flock of raptors overhead keeping him where he was at, to carry out that revenge. And perhaps one day, when she was of the right mood, and less sober, maybe she’d do just that, for now though she wanted something else from him. 

“Now, don’t sell yourself short, even the lowest of the low aren’t completely oblivious to the workings on of those above them.” Although she didn’t think he’d been Riddle’s right hand man at any point during his allegiance to the group, she also didn’t quite believe his own claims of obscurity. He’d been an Order member, one from the original group of teenagers Albus had wrangled into the cause. He’d have been a golden goose for Riddle. 

“Well then let’s start with you and Albus then, and we can go from there.” She’d had so many things she wanted to ask him, some more personally related than others, but first she needed to know why he was there in the first place. “How did all of this start exactly? What, did you just get tired of playing big bad Death Eater, and decided to call up daddy and ask him to take you home? Life of a radical blood purist not exactly what you thought it’d be?”

He didn’t doubt her agreement; he had a feeling that of everyone, she would’ve been the one of the most outright in the Order to admit just how much she’d liked to have punched him in the face for what he’d done. And he doesn’t blame her, of course, in fact, it felt a little wrong that the worst he’d gotten so far was just a stunning curse to the shoulder blades, and not anything else. But he only just woke back up, after all, and he wasn’t going to count her out on that front just yet.

“Eh, turns out most people don’t trust traitors, even if you were traitor-ing to their benefit,” he said with a little mock sigh, as if it was news to him. It was the truth, after all, they hadn’t exactly been jumping to let him in on things, even if they’d been eager to trap him there and turn him against his friends. The question she landed on to start, though, made him grow more serious again.

“You’ve gotta understand, he’s the one who had me go over there, he’s the one who asked me to renounce the muggle in my blood, renounce my own mom, to find him information, the sort of stuff someone as high up as Sirius couldn’t get without seeming nosy, the sort they’d only give to someone they thought was too stupid to understand,” Peter explained, shaking his head. “He didn’t force me to take the Mark, but he knew how weak I was. When they realized I was a spy, they tortured me until I couldn’t take it; I wasn’t strong enough to give up my life, like the others. And they made me believe that somehow it might be better, to at least be seen. They saw the worst of me, and gave it space to grow. Seeing what they thought of me, seeing the way these horrifying people laughed at what I’d done to you all, it wore me down, made me want any chance to fix things; I wanted to leave, but I was too afraid to die. And the thing is...Riddle didn’t use what I gave him, so I thought, maybe, if I got back, and told Dumbledore before he had the chance to, maybe I could change things, maybe I could start to fix the mess I’d made. So I had to try. And if I die instead, well, I deserve it, don’t I?”

It’s stupid that he wishes that he’d have a little bit of time before having to go through the same motions again. It’s not a mercy he deserves, he’s well aware of it, but he’s not sure he has the strength left in him to try to make someone else understand why he did everything he did, why it’d be better to just kill him now, and get it over with, for everyone involved.

Now, he’s just tired, and his body feels like it’s run a marathon, or cried for hours straight, when really all he’s done is have to start facing the people he’s hurt the most. 

It doesn’t take long for her to burst through the door, for her to come towards him, seemingly ready to have a go, which, of course, he can’t really blame her for, but he does wish he’d had a bit more time to prepare for. 

He puts his hands up in front of him as an instinct, because that seems like the only really response he’s been able to manage to seem harmless, defenseless in the face of the hurt he’s caused.

It doesn’t particularly feel worth it to try to apologize, when he’s spent the past hour doing so to Remus, all while knowing it’s fruitless anyway, that no one is ever going to truly forgive him for what he’s done, and he doesn’t deserve the option of being forgiven, anyway. It won’t be enough to tell her that he hates himself just as much as they all do, that he also wishes he was dead.

“I know, I know,” he says, the words sounding a little strangled, like they’re being ripped from his throat, instead of said of his own volition. He backs up as she moves towards him, until the back of his legs hit the edge of the desk, and he can’t go any further without looking away from her. But there’s no way he can risk looking away, even for a second. It’s funny how it only took an hour for his tune to change. Or maybe it has more to do with who he’s now being confronted with. It would feel right, for Remus to cause the pain, or Sirius, or James, but the idea of suffering at the hands of anyone else, without the promise of release, turns his stomach, makes him want to transform and run.

When: late October 14 / early October 15 Where: Hogwarts Castle, Remus’ office Who: @pcterpcttigrew

She’s working well past midnight, too afraid to even look at the clock after all this time. She’d gone home for dinner, just to spend a little time with James and Harry, but returned while James was putting Harry to bed–she had to, she’d apologized, she’d given James a kiss and Apparated back. There were meetings to prepare for, reports to deal with, Kingsley’s schedule to put in order. Too much to do. She was drowning in it.

And then a wolf appeared in her office and everything just froze, for a crystalline moment, at the words Peter’s here.

Lily gaped at the silvery figure. The message was so simple and so loaded. There was only one Peter he could’ve meant, only one Peter who’d been on their minds. Only one Peter who’d turned his back on them. Destroyed James for weeks, shaking in her arms, wracked with sobs over the friend who’d ruined them. The fourth goddamn Marauder who’d turned out to be no better than a common rat.

She’d assumed he was dead, when news of him stopped coming in. She’d been glad he was dead. And now he was–alive, alive and in Hogwarts, and Remus was calling her at fucking–one o’clock in the morning–and she had to go now, because if she didn’t go now then Peter might have a chance to slip away. And Lord knew Lily Evans-Potter was not going to let Peter fucking Pettigrew get away.

A quick letter to toss on Kingsley’s desk, saying she’ll be in late tomorrow, and Lily’s off to the Floo, where there’s a direct line to Minerva’s office. She’ll wake Minerva, most likely, but there’s no chance to wait to write ahead, and without a wand she has no Patronus to send. Lily tumbles out of the fireplace, sending sparks flying, rushing past a sleep-startled Minerva with some hasty apology.

She bursts into Remus’ office with enough force that the door hits the wall behind it. Her eyes scan the room, finding Remus’ grim expression, his own eyes directed at–Peter. There. Lily advances on him, already snapping, “you–fucking–bastard–”

rcmu-s‌:

I could force you to go back.

It was the first thought in his head, as much as he hated it. He knew what would happen to Peter, if he sent him back; he knew what would happen to him if he ever went back, the unimaginable pain, the delight they’d get in getting to kill him all over again. Would Riddle do it himself, or let Greyback do the honor? Or– his throat closes, at the thought– would he make Sirius do it, while he watched? And if he sent Peter back… 

But Peter knew too much, either way. If Peter knew the wards were failing, there was no way Remus could make him go back, no way Remus could let him get anywhere near anyone who might scare him enough that he’d slip up and give them that information too. The Mark was a problem, yes, but Riddle knowing that Hogwarts wouldn’t be protected from long was worse, and as things stood at the moment, they still had a chance at replacing the wards before things got any worse.

     ‘Fuck you,’ he spat. Peter was trying so hard to back him into a corner, to make him responsible for all of this. He didn’t have much more than that in him. He’d spent three years now healing, shedding the skin of a monster and turning himself back into a man. All the rage in the world wouldn’t turn him back into a beast. 

Someone else could be cruel. He deserved that much.

      ‘If you were Dumbledore’s problem, that means your Lily’s now. She’s taking over the Order, from what I understand.’

He had to close his eyes to do what he meant to do next, had to force himself to forget that Pete was standing right in front of him, Mark on his arm, to let the happy memory he had form fully enough in his mind to cast his Patronus. The wolf sprung from his fingertips, waiting for something to do, and when he finally opened his eyes, he looked at Peter while he gave it its orders.

     ‘Find Lily, tell her Peter’s here.’

His words made him flinch, but it was much less than he deserved, all in all. He almost wished he’d say more, say worse, tell him he didn’t deserve to live, even if he wasn’t going to be the one to kill him. This made him feel worse, the resigned sort of anger that made him look even more exhausted. He didn’t regret coming back, finding his way to Scotland, but he wished he had done it sooner, when Dumbledore still had had more time left, so that him being here wouldn’t have been a burden on top of an offense. At least if Dumbledore had been alive, he would’ve made the choices for them all. Now it was all of his old friends, in such horrible positions.

Nothing he did was fair to any of them, but he had no idea what else he could say or do, besides hope someone might be brave enough to stop it before he could go through this with every other person he had hurt.

It didn’t seem like he was going to get that benefit, though.

His heart dropped to the pit of his stomach when he heard Lily’s name, heard they were apparently taking over for Dumbledore with the Order. There were dozens of questions he had, considering it sounded like that meant Remus was no longer even part of the Order, but there were more pressing matters. There was no bloody way he stood a chance, then, not with them, not when he was certain they’d been able to sense something off even before he’d been sent back to England, when things had always just been a little wrong with the two of them.

Remus might not have wanted to kill him, might’ve rather watch him suffer instead by washing his hands of the situation, but he was fairly certain Lily wouldn’t have the same scruples in making him suffer for what he’d done. If he was lucky, they might decide he should die, and spare him from all of the suffering that would surely come if he lived. But he didn’t think that Lily would be interested in entertaining anything that might’ve been close to mercy for him. 

“Throwing the burden at someone else isn’t going to make it go away, you know.”

The only positive about his presence spreading around as more common knowledge was that it meant he didn’t necessarily have to stay a rat at all times. It was easier, yes, less likely to be stopped, less stares, but eating as a rat was never nearly as satisfying as eating as a human. And the good news was that most of the students had no idea who he was, except for one of many strange, new adults who had been around the castle since Dumbledore’s passing, so they didn’t do much, but look at him curiously. He’d had a nice afternoon snack, thanks to the kind, nonjudgemental house elves who still remembered him from better days, and was heading back to his makeshift home, when there was suddenly a rippling pain square in the center of his back, and he was done.

He woke, confused, and ready to panic, assuming he’d been found, assuming he was about to wake to more of the torture he’d been subjected to when he’d first been found a spy, but instead a familiar voice hit his ears, a familiar place coming into view. A different kind of panic, instinct to transform and run immediately quelled with her words, and the dozens of yellow eyes on him, ready to pounce. Peter shifted so that he could take in the image of none other than Moody, sitting there, her wand pointed at him, his own now being set next to her. He pushed himself up to sitting awkwardly, flinching at the pain from the stunning curse, and held his hands out, as if to say he was an open book. No use in a making such a powerful wix have any more reason to hate him.

“Moody, real good to see you. I’ve missed that mug of yours. I don’t know what kind of information you think I have, but I promise I was low enough on the totem pole no one told me anything, I might as well have been shining pureblood shoes over there. Still,” he started, pointedly, “I’d rather not be dinner, so you got me. I’ll tell you whatever you wanna know. Dumbledore, rest his soul, he was planning to let you all know I was here, give me the chance to fix things. Fuckin’ kicked it before he got the word out, though. So kinda been trying to lay low.”

location: hogwarts owlery

date/time: october 21

status: closed to @pcterpcttigrew​

She had been meaning to track down Pettigrew ever since Lupin first mentioned his reappearance. Lupin had seemed to believe the defector’s newfound residency within Hogwart’s was that of a genuine desire to flee rather than to spy. Al had been of a similar belief as well, if Riddle was going to send over a spy, Pettigrew certainly wasn’t the wisest of decisions. After his treachery there wouldn’t be many who would think to give him sensitive information of any kind, let alone anything Riddle would be interested in. And so Al left the rat near the bottom of her to-do list for the days following- that was until what Fletcher and McKinnon came across at the border. 

It proved surprisingly easy to track down the AWOL Death Eater, then again when a new adult turned up around the school it certainly didn’t go unnoticed- especially when the students in question were teenagers and the adult was young and not so bad on the eyes. He had been walking away from her when she finally tracked him down, and so had no idea of the stunning curse she sent sailing in his direction until it landed square between his shoulders. Twenty minutes later she sat idly on a ledge in the owlery, wand pointed at his limp form until she caught sight of movement. 

“I’d stay right where you are, if I were you,” she cautioned, eyes flickering around to the dozens of birds of prey that lined the room, all curious as to who the newcomers were. “They seem rather docile now, but that’ll change fast once something small and furry should suddenly appear.” Continuing to aim her wand at him, she used her free hand to pull out his own from where she’d deposited it in her coat pocket, and sat it down beside her. “But you won’t need to worry about them at all” she shrugged, “all you need to do is answer my questions honestly, and you’ll be back before dinner- and I do mean your’s, not their’s,” a smirk graced her lips as she looked back up to the owlery’s residents. 

mertgraves‌:

He knows. It doesn’t seem like it should be enough. Mert should stay a icy thing, practice at being something un-meltable. It’s only fair. Everyone else does it. But everyone knows that Mert is an easy thing to sway in the end –– they can’t hold their anger, they can’t hold on to hate. Donaghan hurt them once, back at school. Made them feel small and worthless, once. Mert forgave him too quickly, everybody said so. It’s just that when people come to them with sorrow and desperation in their eye, Mert finds it so hard to turn them away. 

What do they want Peter to do, other than what he is? Other than apologising and working to be better, what can Mert or anyone else expect of him? Death? Mert shudders at the thought, at the idea of Peter living only to suffer. 

“You’re right.” They say, softer again than before. “No one’s just going to forgive you.” And there’s a hesitation again, before Mert moves, turns and rubs at their face, sinks down into an over-stuffed armchair, letting the smell of incense calm them down again. They don’t want Peter to die, or disappear again. They’re finding it as impossible as always to hold on to their hate. 

They look up, look Peter in the eye and examine what they find there. Someone sorry, as much as they can be. Mert isn’t sure if it’s for the right reasons, but they want to give Peter… something. The benefit of the doubt, maybe. A second chance. The boy they’d known at school could have been a good man, if he’d followed the right path. Mert always thought that this alternate version of Peter was one they would have liked to know. 

“I can help you, if you need it.” Whisper soft, shamed at what they’re saying, shamed that they’re helping someone who did so much wrong. “To make up for it, to fix things. But it’s the only second chance you’re getting from me.”

Looking back, he isn’t sure what he was expecting to accomplish, showing himself to Mert, putting them in a position where they were going to have to face down a hard problem, face all the worst parts of the war up close and personal. It’s selfish, because it always is with him. He saw them, and thought about how they had treated him all those years ago, and thought maybe, just maybe, if anyone was going to be willing to listen to him, it would be them. And, in a way, he was right, but that didn’t make it feel any better, seeing the conflict he was causing in Mert’s eyes, the way their voice softened almost as if against their will.

He nods, but stays silent, as Mert turns away and sits down, very clearly conflicted by the whole situation. Peter considers, for a second, just leaving them there now, walking out the door and turning back into a rat, maybe just staying that way, until Remus or someone else forced him not to, because what else could he do, knowing that no one was going to want listen to his words, too little, much too late.

But he doesn’t, because Mert looks back up at him, like they’re searching for something in his eyes, something he’s not sure he can give them, and then they keep talking, and it feels a lot like he might start crying of gratefulness. He knows he doesn’t deserve another chance, doesn’t deserve anyone helping him, but knowing that someone is willing makes it feel like maybe dying isn’t the only thing he can do to make it all right.

“Thank you, thank you, Met. I don’t deserve it, I know I don’t, but I’ll do whatever I can to try to fix things. You’re...you’ve always been so good to me, better than I deserve, and I promise I’ll do everything I can to make sure you don’t regret it. I swear I will.”

mertgraves‌:

There was a warring of emotions here. Anger at all of it, first and foremost. Confusion following after. Peter was here, talking to them of all people. Peter saw them and decided to try something, looking vulnerable and desperate behind the eyes. 

Mert wasn’t delusional enough to think they were one of the really important people in Peter’s life –– a few weeks of dating, once upon a time, relaxed and teenaged and surprisingly fun, despite the way people looked over Peter back then. Merton had had a lot more fun with him than a lot of other boys, had continued to think of him with fondness and kindness when they moved on. (Mert moved on so quickly, back then, person to person, the easiest kid to date if you were around their age at Hogwarts. Sometimes, they wish they’d found something that might have stuck around for longer than a couple of months.) Pete and been sweet, a little hapless, a surprisingly nice time. 

It made it harder to believe the story, that Peter could be a traitor. It came up back when Mert still used to go to Order meetings, when they imagined they could be something useful to them. Peter, betraying his friends, betraying the cause. It didn’t seem in character, to Mert. It didn’t seem like a thing that should be true. But it was true. Dumbledore wouldn’t have let them all believe it if it was a lie. 

“You’re sorry?” They ask, and its warm with anger but not as hot as it could be. “You’re right. That doesn’t make it better.” It doesn’t make sense that it would be Mert, that he’d come to them, still. No matter how much Mert liked him. But then again, Mert does remember fifth year, when Remus had held some kind of grudge against Sirius for months and months and months. And they can’t imagine wanting to come face to face with James, at a moment like this. Peter was just as lost as the rest of them, and Mert wants to feel sorry. But Peter is a fucking death eater, and Mert has been spending all of his free time discussing tearing down fascist regimes, not co-operating with them. 

Still, there’s the look in his eye. Mert has always been weak for that, for people needing something, for lost causes and desperate cases. They don’t think Peter is the next Tom Riddle, doesn’t think he’s pure evil, a lost cause. They don’t think Peter is good, either. A fucking dick, an asshole, a little spineless. Mert wishes they had the strength to just turn around and walk away from this. They hate it, hate him, hate all of this. They keep circling around it in their own head, the way they did when they first heard, the fact that they don’t think its who Peter is, deep down. “Try to fix it? You know its not like twelve steps, right. Can’t just go around to everyone and admit you fucked up, ‘sorry for being a traitor, or whatever,’ and expect them to forgive you.” 

Now that he’s already in it, he has to wonder if maybe the right choice would’ve been to leave rather, to run away as a rat and risk being found because of the Mark. No one, but James, Sirius, and Remus knew about that, after all, he might’ve been able to get far, might’ve been able to deal with living the rest of his likely short life as a fucking rodent if it meant he wouldn’t cause anyone else he had cared about more pain. Because they were right, of course, there was nothing that he could say or do to make it better. Even if he’s capable now, somehow, of being someone better, of doing better, nothing would change what had already happened, what he’d already done.

Maybe, in a way, it’s a perverse need to keep suffering that drove him to reveal himself to Mert. He knows that’s not really it, though, even if he won’t admit it to himself that he hoped maybe Mert would still be able to see the good in him, like they had years ago, seeing him more clearly than anyone else, even his best friends, in the end. Because, the thing is, this is the reaction he’s going to get from everyone. Hell, this is mild compared to what he’s expecting when the news spreads.

If he can’t leave, though, maybe at least he can give them all the chance to tell him what they all think to his face. Catharsis is a thing for people, after all, and if he’s never going to get anything like that for himself, he doesn’t deserve it, after all, then maybe at least showing his face and giving them the chance to do whatever it is they’d like might be something. Maybe that’s the best he can do, since there’s nothing else he can do to change any of it.

“I know. I know,” he agrees, an edge of desperation creeping into his voice. He wants them to realize that he thinks exactly the same of himself as they likely think of him now. He hates himself just as much as the rest of them hate him. “I don’t expect anyone to forgive me; hell, I’ll never forgive myself for being so fuckin’ weak and spineless, for all the damage I did, and pain I caused. But I’m here now, and I have to try, right? Or else what’s the point? If I have to keep living, what’s the point of it unless it’s to give everyone I hurt the chance to, I don’t know, say what they want, do what they want with me. Then maybe it won’t be quite as bad for everyone, if I try, since I can’t go anywhere else without putting you all in danger all over again.”

rcmu-s‌:

The emotion sounded honest, genuine, like Peter was choking on it, thick in his throat– but Peter had always been a better liar than he had. Effortlessly pinning the blame for one of their pranks on Snape when questioned by Minerva just before being handed a detention, or saying he’d been one place when really he’d been scampering around as a rat as part of some elaborate plan James had come up with. 

And, a part of Remus says, quietly, what does it matter if he’s sorry, what does it matter if he regrets it? Regret hadn’t stopped Remus from having to live with what he’d done, and nothing he’d done had been traitorous. Nothing he’d done had put his best friends in direct danger. He hadn’t joined himself to a fascist megalomaniacal tyrant even when he had been living in Scotland with the wolves. 

And then– Pete’s voice lowered, quiet, a sudden and chilling stillness to him. And Remus’ stomach dropped out from under him. Alastor Moody’s barely-spoken accusation ringing in his ears, alongside Peter’s offer: did you do it?

Was that what people saw in him, still? A bloodthirsty monster, a beast destined to kill? After all he’d done to shake the inhuman creature he’d had to become, all the work he’d done to prove himself worthy of people’s trust. Even before the war, he’d learned to be demure and accommodating, polite and inoffensive, hiding his anger deep inside so that no one would ever have need to dislike him, because dislike lead to questions and questions lead to danger.

Despite all that, did people really believe he was destined to be a killer?

     ‘I’m not going to kill you, Pete,’ he said, and there was no kindness in his voice, no sympathy, no warmth. Steel-edged. Maybe killing him would have been a mercy, but it would have been a mercy he didn’t deserve. He deserved the pain of looking James Potter in the eye and admitting what he’d done. He deserved the pain of whatever Moody would do, to get information out of him. He deserved to live through his own biggest mistake and either make amends for it or feel the pain of being unable to. 

It wasn’t a surprise, his answer, but it still made his heart sink, nonetheless. Whether out of some perverse, lingering loyalty, or because of the desire to see him truly suffer for what he had done, he was fairly certain Remus, of all people, was going to do all that he could to make certain he survived no matter what, so that he had to look everyone he had hurt in the eye. The trouble was, he understood, and not an ounce of him could blame him for it. He had ruined everything they had given him, after all. Somehow, he’d taken the only good thing in his life, and flipped it on its head. He couldn’t understand why Dumbledore had chosen him to go over for the prophecy, when he must’ve known how fucking weak he was to begin with.

Desperation took hold, only anchoring itself deeper as he says his name, calls him Pete even without the familiarity, the warmth it used to have. It makes him want it all to be over, so he doesn’t have to hear it from anyone else. Doesn’t have to hear it from James.

“But you should, though. I deserve it, after everything I’ve done to all of you. You, Sirius, James, you gave me so much, when I deserved so little, and look what I’ve done,” he said, an edge to his voice, a hint of pleading. If he wouldn’t go so far, here, in the privacy of the collapsed passageway, while being the only one to know that Peter was back, then it was hopeless. He was well aware others would be just as furious, just as ready to let him hear all of the things that he had fucked beyond belief, but he doubted any of them would have the mercy to just kill him for it. Even the ones who he had never had an attachment to, even the ones who had no real stakes, this side was afraid of doing anything to cause fallout without carefully weighing the option, even if it meant killing a traitor.

“It’d be easier, if you did. Less for you to worry about,” Peter insisted, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice, as he realized that he wasn’t going to come out with the solution he longer for, that he would have to face everyone, and his sins. Thoughts racing, he grabbed onto something he had heard the other professors whispering about in their lounge, sneaking around as a rat. 

“The wards are failing, right? And the students, you don’t think they’re safe with a traitor in the castle, do you?” he said, words coming out too fast, as he looked back at his old friend with desperate eyes. “I have the Mark, Remus, he’ll be able to find me, if the wards fail; he’ll be able to find all of you. Hell, he’ll be able to find me the moment I step foot beyond the wards, anyway. And then what? What are you going to do with me, if not kill me?”

rcmu-s‌:

He could barely hear Peter’s excuses through the roar of his own anger, hot and bright. Picking out key words, he pieced it together as Peter spoke, cowering, tried to joke with him like they were teenagers again, like they were friends. 

Thanks to Sirius– had Sirius been a part of this, then? Had Sirius known? And if so, why hadn’t he told them, why hadn’t Remus heard anything about it until this very moment. Dumbledore he understood: the old man kept secrets because it made him feel in control. But Sirius… Sirius didn’t keep secrets, not from him, not…

Not that he knew of.

He shook the thought out of his head, almost needing to physically shake his head to rid himself of it. That wasn’t what this was about: he wouldn’t be baited into distrusting his own friends. And Sirius had sounded so angry, so empty, when he’d told Remus about Pete, about the Mark, about the way he’d hoped and prayed it was all a part of Dumbledore’s plan and how it hadn’t been.

It was an insult to everything he’d been through, everything Sirius was still going through, to compare what he had done to anything they’d had to do to survive. Whether or not Dumbledore had really left him on his own and helpless ( just like the rest of them ) didn’t matter, when Peter had been the one to make the decision to betray them in the first place. And if the thought crossed his mind, just for a second, of how the timing’s matched up, Peter’s appearance on the map with Dumbledore’s seemingly mysterious death… Well, there was too much to say and too little time in which to say it. He hadn’t come here to hear excuses. 

     ‘I would have died,’ he said, simply, his voice steady and cold. ‘I all but did. I didn’t join them to save my own skin.’

His heart felt as if it was trying to beat out of his damn ribcage, trying to escape, like maybe it’d be better of anywhere but trapped inside of a wicked body. And he had to agree. There was no good it did him, after all, it hadn’t stopped him from turning into something vile, and hateful, hadn’t stopped him from listening to everything they spewed, from starting to believe what they had said about his friends.

“I know, I know you would’ve,” Peter insisted, a little too quickly, still holding his hands up in useless defense. His wand was on the ground where he’d been sleeping, useless to him, and he didn’t think he’d want to use it, anyway. “Sirius, he said the same thing. I know it’s the truth. You’re all so much braver, but I’ve never been as strong as any of you. Dumbledore, he should’ve sent James, not me, he’s stronger, he wouldn’t have given up like I did. But I couldn’t handle the pain, I couldn’t bear it, what they did to me, and they wouldn’t stop unless I told them what they wanted to know. And after that, it was either die, or...”

He trailed off, voice caught in his throat, emotion raw and overwhelming, thinking on all that he’d done, face to face with Remus. “I’m sorry, I’m so fuckin’ sorry, I know there’s nothing I can say or do to change it, but I am sorry, I regret all of it; I wish I had been brave enough to die instead, but I couldn’t, I can’t,” he breathed, voice ragged. The words, though, triggered a thought, something that calmed him down, strangely enough.

“You can do it, you know,” he said, voice quieter, straight and certain suddenly, his hands down finally. Head titled to the side, just barely, as he finally looked at Remus, really looked. He looked tired, beneath the sort of rage he’d only ever really seen during the worst moments of the month. He didn’t deserve more on his plate, another problem stacked high. Maybe it would be a solution for both of them. 

“No one else knows I’m here, but you, Moony. You wouldn’t have to feel guilty, I deserve it. And, you know, maybe I could stop feeling guilty, too, knowing it was you.”