Chapter 1

Peter's perspective

I turned around, heart beating in my throat. This was it.

He was coming. I stumbled on my feet, trying to get away from him, but to no avail. He was like a dementor, black cloak flapping about as his glided towards me ominously. My foot slipped on wet pavement, eliciting a squeak from myself.

I found myself crying. It was a snotty mess and if I survived past that afternoon, I was going to have a heck of a time trying to convince Lily to wash it (I had never been good at laundry). I looked in a puddle from an earlier shower in a break to try regain my breath. It wasn't a very pretty picture—bloodshot eyes, shiny cheeks and saliva stained chin. Crying wasn't exactly beautiful for me.

But I wasn't crying out of fear. Well, at least not completely (I wouldn't lie to not feeling the sweat collecting on my palms). Instead, out of sorrow. No more pranking, no more seeing my friends, no more of the Order (who had become just as close as friends as the Marauders)—I'd never see Harry grow up. I was good as dead. James and Sirius had always been the fighters. The tears trickled down my face, warm and wet. I hoped death wouldn't hurt. Perhaps Voldemort would be merciful (I almost laughed at the thought—this morning there had been reports of at least five more muggles being killed by 'Death Eaters').

I stumbled on the gravel road and I looked around into those piercing red eyes. They held no mercy, no pity, no anything. Only death.

I knew there would be no escape with a sly joke like at Hogwarts with the teachers. Mixed in with adrenaline and fear, I was a jittering mess—dirty blond hair filled with dirt and grime, small cuts littering my face, blue eyes tired but alert . . . . This was the life I'd signed up for when I joined the Order.

My eyes remained captivated by Voldemort's red ones. They showed the depth of his lust for power. It was unfathomably deep: he left a trail of death and destruction in his wake, all just to get what he wanted. It was almost childish.

Yes, I chided myself, Voldemort is exactly like a child. Well, if it was a child on steroids that was given a shotgun to play with along with a heavy ambition to rule the world—then yes, the white snake man was like a child. I shook my head, shut up and focus on not dying, I told myself cynically.

He would do anything to get power. He wasn't above torturing or killing to get what he wanted. There was a sort of almost tantalizing madness to it. But worrying if I would make the Death Eater interview list was the least of my worries. There were more pressing issues—such as if Voldemort was a shoot-then-ask-questions sort of person.

Where were James, Sirius, and Remus when you needed them? My eyes darted around nervously, looking for someone, or something to help me escape, or perhaps at least lengthen my life span.

We'd been teamed as a four-man squad to get information on Voldemort, but there had been an information leak—someone knew we were had and told him. Perhaps the fact that he had come so fast to prevent the task's success should've been a clear indicator of how important it was, but really, I was pretty intent on not being snake food. But the small Gryffindor voice in me yelled that I couldn't leave my friends—I couldn't! The Marauders were closer than brothers, and we stuck together.

He cackled evilly, red eyes alive with the pleasure of seeing my fear. "Crucio!" I almost laughed upon having a split-second image of the man in front of me as a baby waving a stick, but as soon as the spell slammed into me with a burst of red, a scream tore from my throat. It was like a hot knife slipping through my skull and scalding everything it touched. It was unimaginable that something could hurt that much, yet here I was, wailing like a child as white hot pain lanced through my head. When the croaking whisper of "stop I'll help you" exited my lips unwillingly (though not as coherently as it's typed), I knew right then what I was.

I was a weak coward. I was the true baby.

Voldemort looked at me in triumph, sadistic glee shining in his scarlet irises. There I realized there was no such thing as mercy from the murderer in front of me.

"Ahh, so you're the weak one?" he hissed in his scaly voice. There was almost disappointment in his voice, and I felt irritation at the sense of failure. Even I wasn't good enough for the dark side. Of course even the evilest wizard of this age would've wanted James or Sirius over weak little Peter. Bitterness stung my mouth.

"It hurts . . . doesn't it?" Voldemort spoke softly. Hearing no protest, he continued, "Being the underdog in the group. Always having to follow your friends' whims, laughing when they laugh, doing whatever they want to do . . . ." He paused for his words to sink in. "I know how that feels," He sighed sympathetically, taking in my shocked face as agreement. "Don't you say? Peter Pettigrew?"

Part of me agreed. When was the last time James or Sirius had ever asked, 'what do you want to do Peter?' They had always forced me to take sides between the two whenever they had argued (usually over petty topics too), and the other always guilt-tripped me. Remus usually managed to stop their fights, but more than not, I found myself trying to make an excuse on why I couldn't get involved.

"Peter . . . they were suppressing your talent—your skills! They were afraid that you'd pass them, so they kept you close so you couldn't become strong!" Excitement danced in his red eyes—the look of a hunter who knows his prey is ensnared, but I was too blinded by anger to think why. If only I had. Perhaps I could've been stronger.

Cold anticipation crept through Voldemort. The pale man didn't need the legilimency again to tell that Peter's will was crumbling. Soon he would betray his friends. He would join the dark side. Not that he'd be much use, but he was a rat animigus. Who knew when Voldemort might need a small spy or hand-servant to serve him?

And if not, Voldemort had always wanted a fur drink cozy. And rat fur seemed quite exotic.

Voldemort could feel all Peter's thoughts of loyalty to his friends succumbing to anger and hate. The Dark Lord suppressed a smirk—as if the flimsy boy could ever be strong enough to resist him.

Peter's thoughts had a milky texture to them, a sort of inborne weakness and flexibility, always bending under pressure. Manipulation—it could twist and change someone's complete mindset. It never failed. Peter though, was easy to influence. His will was fragile and his mind innocent—believing every slippery lie that made its way out of the snake's mouth.

"Join me Peter, together you can help me rule the wizarding world, and rid of scum and mudbloods. Only pure-bloods will rule, and I daresay you are a mighty pure-blood!" Voldemort called, rasping voice giving no indication to the lie.

Voldemort held out his pale white hand for him to reach and waited. He would ether say yes or no. Not that it would be very pleasant for him if he said no (that was the rat cozy option).

Peter's perspective

A small bead of sweat trickled down my forehead as I stared into his red eyes. They almost seemed to glow in the deserted street as evening rolled by. Voldemort had an air of confidence around him just like James and Sirius. Like he could do anything he set his mind to. I could never be like that. James . . . Sirius . . . Remus . . . could I really betray my best friends? After everything we'd been through together?

But I was a follower, not a leader. And Voldemort, like James and Sirius, was a leader. I had never been the strong one.

Seconds passed, but they felt like hours. Tension steamed in the hot air, even as the sun drifted lower in the sky. The power struggle in my head was making it throb, and I was torn—power or my friends? What was the right thing to do? I watched Voldemort's pale hand stretch out to me invitingly.

"There is no good or bad, there is only power. Come and seize it with me, Peter," He coaxed persuasively. "Good and bad are very relative words—say a father steals money for his starving children. To the police, he is bad, but to his children, he is their hero."

Hero. Something I'd never be.

Or could I?

Fear coursed through me once more (fear—there was always fear), what would this guy do to me if I refused? Fire danced in Voldemort's eyes, the eyes of a madman—a sociopath. He was crazy and power-mad. He'd do anything for it. But at the same time, he understood. I wasn't the bad guy here! I was just protecting James, Sirius, and Remus! I nodded to myself, yes, that's what I was doing. If I didn't step in Voldemort would kill them too—even little Harry!

I nodded once more, as if sealing those thoughts as fact in my mind and forgetting the previous thoughts of the chase. I was no coward—I was a hero, protecting my friends even when they didn't know!

But strangely, I wasn't completely terrified by the prospect of taking the hand that was offered to me by my enemy. Power—wasn't that the reason I'd joined the Marauders? For power right? The Marauders at school had been somebodies, but now in the big world I was a nobody again. It was time to join the somebodies again.

I grasped Voldemort's pale hand and shook it gently, careful not to anger him. "I will—Dark Lord."

A crooked small, almost distinguishable, smile escaped from Voldemort—no, the Dark Lord's—mouth. "Peter, meet me here again on the 16th of July," he commanded. I nodded mutely. After all, that's what I was good at. Following orders.

In a dark shadow of billowing robes and magic, Voldemort apparated away from the quiet street, which was empty other than my relieved breathing.

But there was something else inside me now. It burning deep and dark, the fiery seed of anger that Voldemort had planted within me.

And it burned at my friends.

"Peter!" We got separated when there was the Death Eater ambush, are you okay?" Remus asked, dark amber eyes filled with concern. His soft voice, once soft with uncertainty, was stronger now. More confident.

"Yeah, there was a larger amount of Death Eaters than most raids are—like they were gathered by something," Sirius added, brushing his curly shoulder-length hair out of his face. We were at the Order's HQ, and were on the way to reporting to Dumbledore what had happened. "D'you guys think someone could've leaked info?"

"Yeah—I-I'm good. I just had a run in with a bunch of Death Eaters," I stuttered, "I, uh, took care of them." Apparently I stuttered a lot, because they didn't comment or start screaming: you liar! I wasn't really sure if that was a good thing.

"Peter are you okay?" Remus frowned upon noticing the sticky remains of tears on my face.

"Uh, I'm fi—" I stumbled over the words, heartened as well as irritated by the werewolf's concern.

"Well, at least we all came out alive," James smiled with his cocky grin, interrupting me. The burning inside me grew. He put his hand over Lily's shoulder and she leaned on him. Her laugh was like a spring of water in the desert—cool and refreshing, quenching some of the fire. But it didn't die yet.

The door at the end of the hallway opened and Kingsly stepped out. He nodded at the five of us, "Albus is ready to see you guys," He spoke in his deep reassuring voice.

We sat down in the soft chairs lined in front of the desk and leaned forward. James stood up first: gone was the young boy at Hogwarts who had (secretly) cried from homesickness—this was a man who had a budding family. A soldier who was willing to die for his friends and comrades. My throat tightened at the thought of what I had done. I hadn't leaked the information, but I had joined the Dark Lord.

This time it was me who squashed the seed of anger back down into the earth. Without fear locking my mind in a vise, I already felt the deep implications of what I had done in my adrenaline-fueled state.

"There was a bug sir. Someone found out about this plan and told Voldemort. Death Eaters arrived at the scene, but there was something strange about it. Usually there's about twelve of them, but this time there was at least twenty. Perhaps more—we were split up in the process. Ether he's getting confident or someone or something was calling them there. We were a four man squad—the Death Eaters did not need so many men," James reported, fists clenched.

Dumbledore nodded, "Yes, I guessed as much. I apologize for putting you in so much danger—especially you, James. You have a wife and a child now, you should have protection." James nodded, and looked at Lily who was staring at Dumbledore intently.

"What do you suggest sir?" Lily asked, emerald eyes serious. I felt more guilt inside, Harry James Potter. James's son. Would me joining the Dark Lord cause his death? I prayed not. Despite any grudges against James I may have, his son carried none of it.

"Hide. Use the fidelius charm and make your secret keeper someone you trust," Dumbledore in turn, looked at me, Sirius, and Remus, trusting us to not tell anyone else of the information.

"Sirius, mate, will you be secret keeper?" James asked automatically. I didn't know why I felt jealous, it was common knowledge that James and Sirius were like brothers. Maybe, even though I knew it, it still hurt for Sirius to be the first to be chosen without a second glance at Remus or I.

"Sure!" Sirius said, fist-bumping James. "Now, guys, let's go out for ice-cream to celebrate our living-ness!" He grinned.

"Diagon Alley? That ice-cream place?" I asked.

"Yeah," Sirius said. "I've gotta meet up with Angela later today, but later this week?"

"Are you seriously going to be riding that ridiculous motorcycle?" Lily groaned exasperated. "Forget Death Eaters, what's going to kill you is that bike!"

"Of course I am Sirius!" Sirius said indigently. Everyone moaned at the joke. "So . . . on the 16th this weekend?" he proposed. Everyone agreed and Dumbledore watched the exchange quietly with interlocked fingers, smiling.

My lips twitched upwards. My friends, we were closer than anything . . . suddenly thoughts of the Dark Lord crept up on me. He'd said to go back to that place again on the 16th. And so came on the question of who would most likely kill me if I didn't come: my friends or Voldemort?

"Uh, guys? I-I can't go on the 16th. Sorry, I just realized . . . something came up." I finished lamely.

Lily put a hand on my should and smiled sympathetically, "It's okay Peter, we understand." I pretended not to notice her subtly elbowing James.

Their faces were full of disappointment, but James forced on a smile, "We'll save you a scoop mate." I nodded sadly, dread creeping up on me. If they were going to die, at least I'd want some good memories with them.

The 16th grew closer and closer and then the day was here.

I pulled on a jacket, and walked outside, shivering already aprehensively. I'd been staying at the Potters and I waved good-bye to them as they apparated to Diagon Alley. I wanted to follow them, but duties called. I had already had ten days or so to fantasize all the ways the Dark Lord could kill me if he wished. Though on the side I had discovered when the Dark Lord had looked into my eyes, I was eager to see what sort of power I could achieve.

I walked to the street, which still had its gloomy aura around. Metal fences had flecks of paint chipped off and rust in others. The pavement was cracked and in dire need of replacement. After observing the scenery in a brighter light, there was a soft whoosh of cloaks.

I looked around to see I was surrounded by black, hooded figures. Death Eaters. At the center of them, right in front of me, was their master. My master.

"Peter Pettigrew . . . walk with me, and join my ranks forever," he crooned.

I walked behind him slowly, and I knew, there would be no turning back.

Maybe I wasn't a hero. Maybe I wasn't even a coward.

I was just me. Peter Pettigrew.

And maybe, I was okay with that.

Rewrite Done 8/1/2015