Chapter Text
Peter had never thought of himself as a brave man. He was a Gryffindor, yes, but he never felt brave. He went along with the pranks and the wild ideas of the Marauders to feel a sort of brotherhood, but that was then. It was fine when they were children. It charmed Peter how little they thought of the rules and made the school more fun. They were never really serious – other than Sirius of course, he would never let them forget it– about life and the rules. It was all games and planning their next big prank, only further becoming a school legend. It was enjoyable being known, but not being the one everyone swooned over. People respected him as a part of a group, and he liked not having to make his own decisions. That was until the war. The abductions and killings. When their classmates stopped showing up after holidays because their parents wanted them close and safe. Then it was serious.
The other Marauders started talking about joining the order pretty early on; or James and Sirius did, Remus seemed unsure, but he too wanted to help his found family. Peter didn’t. He wanted to be as neutral as possible. He wanted to sit home and read the newspaper about the war raging on outside his glass window with a pretty wife and cute kids, and then putting the paper away and focusing on his own life he had built up, with his friends at his side. He didn’t want to fight. But then the others expected him to come with them, and he was not brave enough to say no. He was terrified to fight with the order, but also terrified to lose his friends if he bailed. So, he spiraled.
People has always thought of him as weak, maybe he was. This was not bravery, this was cowardice. He should have told the order the dark lord had found him a few months ago, when Voldemort first visited him in a dream. He should have told Dumbledore, or Moody, or even James, but he didn’t.
He kept quiet.
Peter didn’t say anything about how he had joined the deatheaters to save his own skin, to gain protection from his cruel plan. Voldemort had showed him his powers, his abilities. He had made him afraid; he had told him he would die if he disobeyed. So, he kept quiet. He became the spy.
This would be his first meeting with the deatheaters as their spy. Peter didn’t really know what to expect. Would it be gloomy and reek of dark magic; or would it feel like an order meeting with undertones of sadistic tendencies? He was not so sure.
The meeting was at the Malfoy manor, Lucius and Narcissa’s home. Peter had always admired Sirius’ older cousin when they were at Hogwarts. He even had a crush on her when they were still in school, but that faded away into intimidation when they were older. Or maybe it always was? Peter had never known what to describe his feeling for people.
Then Narcissa was married off to Lucius. That wile, wile man. Oh, how Sirius had taught them to loath that man and his ideologies. His sick and twisted views on blood purity and everyone else who wasn't a straight, white man. Lucius had always seemed to prefer men as partners in literally anything. Of course he was known as a serial romantic who always had a different date each hogsmead visit, but they never seemed to stick. Lucius gave more homoerrotic vibes than Sirius and Remus, who Peter had walked in on many times before. He was sure that man must have been dealing with some bottled up internalized homophobia in some way or another, because the way he looked at Corban Yaxley did not match up with his rants about those "dirty homosexuals" as he called it. But he was a Black, so internalized homophobia was to be expected. His mood shifted after getting married, he turned almost melancholy. It seems that he projected that into their interior design.
Their hallway was – in the most ancient noble house of black and incest fashion – rather gloomy and dark. The black wood floors, paired with the emerald green walls made the hallway feel very claustrophobic and cold – almost as if it was trying to eat you alive. The space seemed too full and too empty at the same time.
He had grown up in similar hallways, always feeling either too small or too big for the space. Always a misfit. The walls at home were yellow – to symbolize his family’s long line of Hufflepuffs - and the wood floors were more honeycomb, but it had the same feeling. He felt like he didn’t belong there.
He had never come from a proud family; you weren’t meant to say the name Pettigrew proudly. People thought of him as a coward, a slob. A brain-dead boy who followed the perfect James Potter and Sirius Black around with lovey-dovey eyes and a sloppy smile while they charmed the hearts of all the girls in their year. He wanted to be his own man, undefined by his name and friends. He wanted to be honored.
He was a misfit at home too. All his other family members were Hufflepuffs. His mom, dad, grandparents, uncles, and aunts, even his sister was in Hufflepuff. Pettigrew was a Hufflepuff name until him. Maybe that was why he felt disconnected to his name? For what is a name if not a showing of what you came from, when that something or someone is so different from you. His family didn't really care for him much, but he still cared for them. That is why it didn't pain him all that much to cut them off slowly, as to protect them from his deeds if he ever got caught. In the end it was only his siter that seemed to be sad to see him go, but it was for the best; if she ever found out what he did she would kill him herself.
Hopefully that wouldn't happen.
Voldemort had promised him victory, an important place in wizard history. That is why Peter now walked towards the door, ready to face his new life.