Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Remus liked many things.

Like the crickets he heard late at night through his window, like the fluffy carpet in his mum’s room, and like the mirror he talked to sometimes, just before bed and first thing every morning. 

(He liked how it talked back. Wasn’t that amazing? Mum had absolutely freaked when dad brought it home.)

What he loved was a shorter list, but it encompassed more. He loved his parents and  magic .

It was impossible to hate magic. His mum was a muggle, so she didn’t do magic, but she was nice enough to make up for it. But his dad — he was the one who he admired the most, not that he’d ever tell his mum that.

His dad came home infrequently, but when he did, he came with his wand in toe, which spat out spells like... well, magic. He turned teapots into frogs and cats into dogs. When dad came home, he immediately kissed his mum, which was gross, and then he would always unfailingly do magic to brighten up her day; like create flowers out of thin air and hold them out to her.

Magic also did their dishes, swept their floors, and hung Christmas lights. Maybe that was why mum had married dad; for practicality. Practicality was good.

Magic was more than  practicality  though! It was — it was fantastic. Straight out of a fairy tale.

He curled up beside the window and stressed his ears to listen to the crickets. 

His dad was infallible. He was magic and smart, and nice and fun and... everything. Remus wanted to be like him.

Outside echoed a very strange noise, and Remus scrunched up his face and hid slightly under the covers. It was an odd sort of growl, something like a stressed moan. Dad said the wildlife did it all the time, that it was natural, so he shouldn’t worry; but he wasn’t his dad so nope, Remus was definitely going to hide under his covers. 

It was late at night, so the wind always made funny noises. When he was really, really really young, Remus would run to his parents’ bed and dive right in with them. But he didn’t do that anymore. Four-year-olds were better than that.

It was silent for a while, and Remus reached out to a book of fairytales by his bedside. He couldn’t read all of the words, even though his dad had called him a ‘smart young boy.’ But the pictures were his favourite part, so he didn’t need to read them anyway.

Didn’t the pictures tell the best stories?

(Mum said he wouldn’t feel that way when he grew up, but that was just stupid. What person preferred words over pictures?)

He loved Cinderella, Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, Goldilocks, and Little Red Riding Hood. He liked Robin Hood, he really really liked Beauty and the Beast — but that was just because his mum drew pictures for it. He coloured them in, and they were hung on his wall.

There was a slam from somewhere near the backdoor, and Remus froze mid-way of turning a page. Even if it was the wind, it didn’t mean that Remus had to listen to it. He wasn’t scared, of course not, but it didn’t sound that good either.

Crickets were better. Even if they were repetitive.

He was home alone because his dad was at work and his mum was out babysitting a neighbour's kid because they were younger than Remus. They didn’t have a lot of money. She’d be back later, but that meant he couldn’t rush to his parents' room — which he didn’t do because he was four, thank you very much.

They had called Remus responsible. He was responsible, but when the next large growling noise, mixed with a high pitched squeal and a large smash echoed through the house, he wished they thought he wasn’t. He wished that maybe mum had stayed home. So what if they didn’t have a lot of money?

He buried more underneath his covers. 

White fingers gripped the blanket, and he tried to think of something other than the noises but it was no use, as soon as they had seemed to come closer, any other thoughts had disappeared with the wind.

(It was just the wind, wasn’t it?)

His breathing seemed to get louder, and he abandoned the book completely. So what if it was the wind or wildlife? He didn’t want any part of it. As the sounds got louder, and a deep harrowing smash sounded down near the back door, he buried himself under the covers and moved the blanket slightly to make it appear like he wasn’t there.

Harsh breathing. Heavy footsteps, followed by a click. It was the sound of a dog walking. Had a dog broken in?

Remus slowly put a hand over his mouth. It was scarily silent, and the crickets seemed to get louder and louder as the blood rushed to his face. From between the folds of his blanket, he only got a single glimpse of hairy-grey-slobber-fear-big-beast before there was suddenly pain.

Pain, everywhere. 

“Remus? Remus!” Dad’s voice bellowed from outside.

The dog bolted out Remus’ window, and shattered glass fell everywhere. More pain. It had bitten only once before it had run away, but the bite felt almost like it was getting larger, like it covered his entire body. His body felt like a boiling kettle.

(Was this how Briar had felt when she had pricked her finger? Or was it how Red Riding Hood’s grandma had felt when she was eaten? When Snow White bit into that apple? )

(When the prince got transformed into a beast?)

Pain.

“Remus?”

Pain.

“Remus!”

Pain.

The crickets fell silent.

Remus had never hated crickets more.

When Remus got accepted into Hogwarts, his dad had been ecstatic. His mum, on the other hand, had not been. The two had fought for weeks, all the way up to the day he was set to step onto the train. Even then, his fate already decided, his mum had pulled him aside.

“You don’t have to go,” she had said. “You’ll be okay at home. We can homeschool you, it’ll... it’ll be fun.”

It wouldn’t be fun.

The house wasn’t the same, it’d never been the same. As soon as the option had been available, he knew that he was going to go to Hogwarts.

So Remus shook his head, and the next thing he knew he was waving out the train window. He pulled a book onto his lap and read, all the while pretending that nothing was real. That everything was okay. That he was normal.

Truth was, he didn’t want to go to Hogwarts. The idea of it was too overwhelming. It was risky. But it was better than home.

Home had quickly become a nightmare. He hated all of the shouting, he hated mum’s tears late at night when she thought he was sleeping. He hated the worn down shed at the back of the house, but most of all, he hated magic.

What was magic good for if it did that to him? If it forced him to become that thing, only to then tell him that he wasn’t good enough for the rest of the world. He hated it, and he hated himself.

(He... even, even — well, he could admit to himself that he didn’t really hate magic. He just hated the magic that made him werewolf. Could anyone blame him for that?)

Large chattering from outside the train compartment door made him quietly lift up his head, and he saw the shadows of two figures casually strolling up. The taller one drew the door to the side.

He fidgeted absently with the sleeves of his wooly jumper. It had been forced on him seconds before he stepped onto the train. His mum liked to knit a lot, which meant that he had a lot of woollen clothes, like scarves and socks and gloves and — well, a lot of wooly things. The problem was that unfortunately, she was bad at it. His jumper looked like it was coming apart already, and for all he knew it was completed yesterday. And it probably was.

“— And yeah, of course I did! But she didn’t answer, so I don’t know what’s up with that and... hey! I’m James Potter, what’s your name?”

Also fun fact: his mum always gifted homemade projects to people when she was nervous. It was nice to get her clothes, but the fact that it gave away that she was nervous around you for whatever reason was unsettling. Well at least he knew why she was nervous this time — because he was going to Hogwarts. Sometimes he had to guess.

Remus looked down and clenched the book in between his hands. The boy who introduced himself as James was standing slightly in front of a slightly shorter boy with long black hair, which was drawn back in a ponytail. James didn’t wait for Remus’ reply and sat himself down heavily onto the seat opposite him. The trunk trailing after him floated up onto the rack above his head.

Remus stared at it. His trunk hadn’t done that. Was it a magical trunk? Was it possible that James already knew magic? He had read many of the books assigned on the Hogwarts list already, of course, but he couldn’t do magic like that yet. He knew the theory for just about everything, because once upon a time he’d been excited. But he could barely tie his shoes with magic in practice.

“Remus Lupin,” He mumbled. 

The other boy sat next to James and slunk an arm around his shoulders. “Nice to meet ya Lupin,” he winked. “Call me Sirius. What brings you here?”

Why did it feel like they were gearing up to interview him? It made him feel nervous. He hadn’t prepared himself for a conversation at all, in all honestly. He’d well resigned himself to a quiet train ride. Surely, he’d expected, they’d sense something off about him. 

“If I had to take a guess,” James said with a grin, “I’d have to say he’s going to Hogwarts. You a firstie too?”

“Yes.” Obviously.

“You don’t mind if we sit here, right?” Sirius asked politely, a tone only challenged by the way he spread himself across James in a move to make himself more comfortable. James looked incredibly amused, but seconds later shoved off Sirius’ legs. They went back up.

Remus shook his head. They were entertaining to watch at least. So, even if they didn’t ‘part as unlikely friends,’ it would be an interesting experience at the very least for them to sit with him. And. Well. Since he doubted they wanted to be his friends, getting a little bit of human interaction just before he spent his inevitable seven lonely years at Hogwarts wasn’t bad, right?

Did he smell weird? Remus bet he smelt like a wet dog or something.

He’d showered twice before he came, just in case, but with his luck, it was only a matter of time before they noticed something amiss. Like in maybe an hour. Or two, or three. Surely they’d noticed his scars? Normal people didn’t have such prominent scars like he had.

Sirius and James turned to each other to exchange a fleeting grin, and Remus used the opportunity to risk a quick smell of the sleeve of his wooly jumper.

No, he just smelled like wool and mum’s perfume.

“Wicked, thanks, mate!” Sirius grinned, “What house do you think you’ll be in?”

“Hufflepuff,” Remus muttered. His mum had said that that was likely — grudgingly. His dad said that he’d be a Ravenclaw like he had been. Remus preferred not to think about it, himself.

James snorted. “Well, I’m going to be a Gryffindor! Brave at heart, you know?”

Sirius looked surprised at that. “Gryffindor?” He prodded James.

“Gryffindor’s the best house!” He replied loudly. James picked up one of Sirius’ legs and acted like he was brandishing a sword. Sirius blinked owlishly. “Fighting monsters, taking names! Not a chance you’ll see me anywhere else. Besides, that’s where my soulmate said she was going to go!”

“Your soulmate’s a firstie too? I thought you said you hadn’t found her.” Sirius said. He looked a little bit bothered by James’ declaration, but James didn’t seem to notice. Remus watched it all silently from behind his book. He turned a page and feigned nonchalance.

“Yeah! Or at least, I think she must be. Look,” James pulled down his sleeve and Remus watched a little moving illustration of a thought bubble move across his arm, placed just above the inside of his elbow. “See, I got my mark when I was five. Whatever she thinks about appears here, and I saw a lion the other day, so it must be fate!”

As if punctuating his words, the little bubble was soon filled with a 2D image of a tiny strawberry cake, only to be replaced by a small book and then a picture frame with four dark silhouettes inside; no defining features. James pulled down his sleeve and playfully shoved down Sirius’ legs. Once again, they went back up.

“That’s pretty cool,” Sirius mumbled. Remus noticed he hadn’t said what house he thought he was going to be in. 

“Isn’t she?” James’ teeth showed. “She’s so wicked, you know?”

“Dunno Jamie, I feel bad for her. She probably gets things like boobs showing up on her arm.”

“Hey!” James squawked, “I’m not like that, no she doesn’t!”

Sirius looked utterly smug. “Better hope she’s not showing her friends because now she just did.”

“Oi!”

Remus laughed behind his hand, and both boy’s necks snapped up in his direction. “Oh hey, you made a noise! I’m so proud of you,” James said cheerfully.

“Oh.” Remus coughed awkwardly, and the smile melted off his face. It hadn’t been said with a mocking tone, but it certainly felt mocking.

Sirius whacked James.

“Sorry mate, just poking fun. Mum says I’m awful at talking to people, you know? But I’ll get better at Hogwarts, just you wait! I’ll befriend all of Gryffindor by the time we graduate.”

Remus waved off the apology. He pulled the book up to cover his face. The last thing he saw was Sirius looking disappointed. He knew that James had just been thinking aloud and most likely didn’t mean any harm, but he still felt a bit uncomfortable by the comment.

“My soulmark is a dog,” Sirius said changing the subject. “I’d show you, but right now it’s bouncing around on my ass cheeks.”

James snorted. 

“What kind?” James pressed, “a poodle?”

“Nah mate, it’s a grim.”

“That’s awesome!” His tone changed fast, and Remus tried to smother a surprised laugh.

“Thanks. It appeared last year, and it keeps getting bigger. I reckon one day it’ll be the size and length of my massive  —“

The door clattered open, and a sweet elderly lady leaned in. “Anything from the trolley?”

James practically leaped to his feet, and Sirius’ legs were dumped onto the floor. Sirius chuckled and followed him. They practically bought out the entire trolley, and Remus hoped the next students to be offered candy wouldn’t go after them. 

Remus subtly took out a few knuts and bought two chocolate frogs. He thanked the lady and watched her close the door and walk away. He chewed quietly.

“What were you going to say, mate?” James asked through a mouthful of licorice.

“Nothing you should concern yourself with.” The way it was said was like Sirius was doing an impression of someone.

A second passed. Sirius turned to James and whispered something into his ear with a cheeky grin. Remus guessed he was finishing the end of his statement from earlier and part of him wanted him to ask to speak louder, but the other half of him told him to just be quiet and mind his own business. What did it matter if they didn’t want to share something with him? 

James blinked. “You have a massive chicken? That’s weird.”

“Nah.”

Remus snorted. Well, even if they hadn’t shared it with him, he could guess what Sirius’d said. To distract himself, he picked up the chocolate frog card and watched Morgana look at him with faint bemusement. 

(Maybe she could tell he was a werewolf or something, her eyes had that particular twinkle in them; like she knew something she shouldn’t. Imagine being outed by a card. He decided to use her as a bookmark).

James still looked confused but dropped the subject. “What about you, Lupin?” 

He swallowed. “Soulmate marks?” 

“Yeah.”

Right. It was normal to show new people marks as soon as you met them; it was common sense, and helped people find their matches. 

Remus didn’t like the idea of showing his soulmark, and as the boys stared at him expectantly, he half wanted to say he didn’t have one at all. But if he said that, would he ever find his match? Because he wanted to find them. 

There were many problems with his mark — the first, was that it was on his stomach right below a particularly vicious claw mark. The second was that it was faded. And if one was smart enough, they’d be able to work out what he was from both of those hints. But looking at the two boys, he reckoned he’d be safe.

Remus pulled up his shirt and showed them a pastel sunflower. “This is it,” He said needlessly. “I got it when I was four.” It had used to be much brighter. 

Usually, when a soulmark faded, it meant someone’s soulmate was dead. Remus’ faded because he was bitten. A werewolf’s mark was destined to fade over time. And their soulmate’s mark, too, if that wasn’t bad enough. It was just another tally mark to mark that he was different.

That was one of the reasons why the ministry didn’t like werewolves; people who didn’t have soul marks didn’t have a soul. That was their logic, and that was Remus’ partial demise. They were, in the words of his father, ‘archaic’ in terms of soulmate understandings. His mum’s words about the ministry probably shouldn’t be repeated.

Suffice it to say that their family didn’t like the ministry much. 

(Remus was as good as dead anyway. As soon as he’d become a werewolf, he’d become nothing. Worthless. Why would anyone want someone worse than worthless? He was glad that it had faded early before people had known that it was supposed to be bright. Dad looked mournful whenever he saw it as if he thought Remus himself was dead. 

Ironically, he was no better than the ministry sometimes).

As long as the sunflower was there, no matter how faded it was, Remus could use it to pass himself off as normal. So it wasn’t too bad, but it was in no way good either. So yes, he had mixed feelings about it. 

“That’s pretty cool,” Sirius nodded. “I’d have pegged you for a book soulmark kind of person.”

He tilted his head slightly and dropped his shirt back down. “We met around twenty minutes ago. How would you guess that?”

“I’m good at this kind of stuff!” Sirius insisted. “Guessing, that is. I met James just before I met you, and I thought he was pretty chill and he was. I like you, too. So I bet you’re a good bloke.”

“We’re going to rule over Gryffindor.” James nodded solemnly.

Remus didn’t think he’d be fit for anything but Hufflepuff. “What if I’m not?”

“Not Gryffindor?” Sirius asked.

“Uh, what if I’m not a good bloke? What if I’m,” A monster, “Not... well, yeah, a Gryffindor?”

“We’ll make it in together,” James promised. Sirius looked uneasy at that but nodded along nonetheless.

Remus stared into Sirius’ eyes, and then slowly moved to stare into James’.

He put down the book.

Chapter Text

Peter had known from the moment he was three that things were wrong. Things had always been slightly off, ever since he could remember and create understandable thought, but it was when he was three that everything clicked together. 

(It’d been when mum was there, and even a year later, it felt like a very long time ago.)

Sunflowers.

They grew at the front of his house, and he watered them to encourage them to grow. His dad called him a pansy for it, so he didn’t do it as often as he wanted to; but whenever dad looked away, Peter could be found in the front garden. The flowers were everywhere, they grew up on the walls of the garage and around the mailbox. Up the walls and around the front door. They climbed the outside window of his room, and sprouted out the gaps in the driveway’s bitumen. 

(He watered them every Saturday.)

He liked them. They were something normal, something to look at late at night under the light of the patio as everyone in the street went to bed. 

Sure, it was weird to have such a fascination with flowers, but his mum used to like them too so he was justified! And if other kids liked dinosaurs and dolls and balloons, why was it so bad to like flowers? When mum was alive, she used to walk down there in the morning every Saturday, too, and he’d watch her water them.

Then she died and a year passed, and Peter took her place. He missed watching her do it, but just because she wasn’t there didn’t mean that life was bad. He took the torch. He still did the exact same things he did when she was there, like stack building blocks and make castles out of blankets and pillows. Life was okay, just a bit sadder.

Life was normal.

Life was a mixture of sunflowers, dad, memories of mum, and blanket castles. 

(But it wasn’t, not really.)

Dad walked past his room and Peter held his breath — as if it would help, as if it was even necessary and not just dramatic  — and stared at the door covered in peeling painted blue letters spelling out his name. Peter. Was it always Peter? 

(Did it matter?)

Dad... wasn’t a bad person. He just wasn’t much of a good person, either.

Peter was four, and he liked to stare at the sunflowers late at night under the light of the patio.

They always looked otherworldly, not as bright under the darkness of night, but still there. Even if the sun was gone, they stood facing the sky. Tall and unyielding.

They didn’t give up. They were pretty. Every stage of bloom was pretty, even when they were just buds peaking up from between the gaps of wood in the patio.

Peter liked sunflowers, it was that simple.

When the footsteps from his dad stopped, he listened to the creaking of his mattress and eventually felt himself relax. He felt guilty for acting like this; like his dad was some sort of criminal, when he did little other than say a few mean things every now and then. Dad deserved the right to be mean. 

It was Peter’s fault that so many things were wrong; that everything was slightly off. 

Everything evolved out of circumstance. Whether that be dad’s mean personality or animals in the wild. Dad’s life sucked, so it wasn’t a surprise that he resented Peter.

Dad didn’t get a normal kid. No, instead he got him. 

(Peter hadn’t always been Peter. Once he had been someone different entirely, with a different life and a different —  better  — family.)

He had never been good at acting four-years-old. He didn’t ask as many questions as he should have or did as many ‘cute’ or ‘sweet’ things that other kids his age did. At first, he had been proud of his more mature personality, because at least he wasn’t a complete hellion like other four-year-olds, but he came to realise that a hellion kid might have been what dad wanted.

This was not a fantasy world. A will to hide his true self didn’t make up for the lack of ability to actually do that. In life there were milestones, behaviours of children, stuff that kids never failed to do by the book. These factors Peter had no way of knowing as he aged. He had no blueprint, and no books. 

So of course he’d not been perfect! Of course he’d made mistakes, and he’d fudged around with milestones and so on and so on.

Peter was... not right. An anomaly, a mistake, and everyone could tell. 

It was just unsaid, was all.

The new world he lived in didn’t have the same things as his old one. It didn’t have the same tv channels or even the bright fluorescent ads on the side of some streets. It didn’t have the models of cars that he was used to or the exact same flowers. Didn't have the same fashion.

Later he learned that some of that was because he no longer lived in the same continent and time — or even the same world. Growing up, though, he’d thought he was near right where he’d left off. So these differences were pretty surprising.

It wasn’t quite home. He missed home. He didn’t know what home was. He missed it anyway. It was all very confusing, and Peter had been caught up in a swirling vortex of facts and knowledge that he was too inexperienced to absorb in a natural way.

“Get the paper,” Dad said when he noticed that Peter was awake. 

Peter dropped the spoon for his cereal and quickly jumped down the bench to stumble towards the front door and across the driveway.

His dad didn’t greet him a lot. When they did see each other, it was usually a greeting through a command. Dad wasn’t necessarily a bad person because of that. Peter still got everything he needed; soap, food, hot water, sunshine, and everything else, he was never without anything he really wanted or needed. 

But even so, whenever his dad didn’t say ‘hi’ or ‘I love you’ when before his mum — from both lives — would have, he felt... odd. Not happy, not sad either, just resigned. 

Oh poor him. Peter closed the mailbox and avoided stepping on the pointy rocks with his bare feet, and berated himself in his head. Oh poor you, Peter. The man doesn’t say hi, and you’re all up in arms. It’s not like he hits you or anything.

His life should have been alright. Some things were wrong, like how his mum was completely and utterly, well, you know, but life should have continued on anyway, shouldn’t it? The people in the books — before this, before Peter — had made it seem so easy. So simple. It wasn’t simple.

He dropped the newspaper in dad’s palm. “Thanks. We’ll cut your hair today, it looks too girly.”

Peter’s hands flew to his scalp and felt the long, blond, and slightly wavy strands reaching all the way to his shoulders.

“Can I get a hair tie instead?” He asked, and sat down next to his cereal. It was slightly bigger from soaking up the milk, but he scrunched up his face and soldiered on. It was never the same after it’d been sitting for a while. 

“Hm. No.”

Peter swallowed his mouthful and nodded obediently to his dad.

His dad eventually finished the paper and rose to his feet, and slipped on slippers that were by the door. He was still in a basic singlet and pajama pants. Those days he rarely did anything that took above the usual amount of effort, and Peter didn’t blame him for it. Mum’s death was still a fresh wound, and they dealt with it in different ways.

“Get dressed, Pete."

Peter raced up the stairs and was back with a pair of socks in his hand and shoes in the other. He put them on in the car.

He didn’t like their car. It was bare and empty, but even then it was filled with dirt and grit which clung to every surface. His first mum’s car had been the same, except every time she got in she would say something like, “We really need to vacuum this place out one day!” And then inevitably never vacuum that place out one day. Come to think of it, Peter didn’t think they ever got around to doing that at all before his death. Anyway, her car always had a comfortable homely vibe to it, and dad’s didn’t.

“You really should’ve told me it was getting long, Peter.”

Peter watched the streets pass by in tired boredom. A cat jumped over a fence and he turned his head to watch it land among bushes. 

They passed the town graveyard, and his eyes caught on the large tree in the center. One day, if his dad had his way, they'd both be buried there. Mum was waiting for them. He didn't want to join her just yet, but when he did, he'd be happy to see her.

“The mirror in the bathroom is still down,” Peter replied. He didn’t really focus much on his appearance anyway. Dad was the one looking at Peter all the time, if it was such a big deal then he would have noticed himself. Peter wasn’t an adult, he was four, why did he have to care about maintenance? 

The bathroom was being renovated by his dad, but dad had a habit of leaving things half completed. The shelves were on the dining room bench, taken right out of the bathroom cabinet, and the mirror was in the garage. The mat was scrunched up against the wall covered in grit, and the tiles were taken out altogether.

“Well you sleep on it, don’t ya? The other boys at school are gonna make fun of you.”

Ah, yes, the ‘school’ for four-year-olds. Really it was glorified daycare that made him so bored every time he attended that he’d developed a reputation for loving naps and not much else. “They don’t mind it,” Peter insisted. “Mark has long hair too, it’s in a braid.”

His dad snorted. “He the one with that hippie mother?” The way he said ‘hippie’ made it sound like a slur. “Lady who’s got a few screws loose?”

“I don’t know.” He didn’t want to agree with his dad, because he didn’t share the same opinion, but he also wasn’t the stupid type to stand up for her either. He wouldn’t gain anything from it.

“Must be,” Dad said. “Only people like that let their boys have long hair.”

Peter bit his lip.

His dad thought there was only one correct way of doing things. He liked things orderly, with a nuclear family and an expensive house. His dad believed that the world was against him because things hadn’t worked out as he had wanted it to. Peter could relate to that last bit at least.

They didn’t have an expensive house, and they didn’t have a nuclear family, and they didn’t have a lot of money and they didn’t do things that ‘normal’ families did. Those sorts of things were impossible, not when mum was dead and dad didn’t have a very good job, and Peter was, well, Peter. 

His dad was bigoted. Nasty, mean. There were many words for him. Peter didn’t like to admit that, though, because to admit that meant to admit Peter’s life wasn’t as great as he wanted it to be.

From the moment everything in his mind had clicked a year ago, he’d known that his life wouldn’t be easy. He’d decided wait it out, and agree with everything his parents said, and then move out to some isolated place with a small house and maybe a dog. Or a pet frog.

(But then parents became a parent and the things he had to agree with became harder to agree with.)

He scowled. Poor him, poor Peter. Right. People had much bigger problems than him, he really ought to just suck it up. Some part of him knew that pushing aside his own struggles was probably unhealthy, but the other part had a survival instinct, and so it was shoved down.

His hair got cut. They went back home.

“Hate those godawful flowers,” Dad grumbled when they drove up the driveway. Peter looked at him and the flowers briefly while running his hands through his short hair. It almost felt like a buzz cut with how short it was. “Weeds, the lot of ‘em.”

“I like them.”

“You would.”

Peter scrutinized his dad as they slid out of his rusty old truck. “What’s that mean?”

“Nothing, ignore it.”

He frowned. “Okay.” Peter sent out one last look at the flowers circulating the mailbox and disappeared inside. He really didn’t like those sort of replies, but there wasn’t much he could do about them.

What was he meant to even say anyway, huh? ‘Don’t speak to me like that?’ To his dad? Not a chance in hell.

“Oh and Peter?”

“Yeah?”

“Take out the trash.”

Peter liked going to the shops or the hairdressers. There were a lot of people around, and Peter had always found people fascinating. Especially with the entirely new aspect of society introduced.

When he had first discovered that soulmarks were an actual thing, he’d been astounded. Mum had had one, dad had one, the neighbour had one, the neighbours dog didn’t have one but with the way it was so happy all the time, one would think it did—

Soulmates made people happy. That was a rule upheld by all society. A couple of people didn’t have them, but that meant they weren’t meant to have one — some people were against that, but they were hard to find. Some people had two soulmates. Some had three, four, five, or even more. Some people had platonic soulmates or exclusively sexual soulmates. 

Soulmarks could move. They could allow people to blow bubbles out of their fingers, or they could spell out words across their chest or around their ankles. People could have cats that lead them around, or bees that flew across their skin and popped out and fluttered and buzzed around the place. 

Moving shadows. Heterochromia, a single oddly coloured lock of hair.

(Peter once saw a man with a jellyfish tattoo soul mark. It popped out of his skin, plummeted to the ground, and kind of just sat there. Peter had stared for a while, but in the end, it hadn’t done anything more than splay out as the man scrambled around trying to force it back onto his skin.)

Marks were fascinating. Some were physical marks, or in some cases, it was like hearing music that their soulmate sang, or having an ability to sense their location once they touched for the first time.

Peter loved to watch people, and guess what kind of soulmark they had. He saw someone with a platonic bond matching their kid’s once, and one time he saw someone have a horse tattoo burst out of their skin, and then they rode it across the market. No one told them off!

He couldn’t wait to have one.

Dad didn’t show Peter his, but he knew mum had had a group of yellow petals on her elbow. They would sometimes flutter up her arm, but they never went anywhere else. When he was a baby, he used to try and catch them. They never really stayed in his hands though.

(He didn't remember actually doing that, but he did remember mum telling him about it).

On his bed, Peter drew pictures of people with little birds across their skin, matching one another. It was late afternoon and he was tired. He missed the internet. He wasn’t good at drawing, but it was something to do. He had a suspicion that if he continued to draw as much as he did, he’d get very good at it in no time at all.

There wasn’t much to do in his house. One could argue he could go outside, but he’d honestly rather just die from boredom. He had pretty bad luck, and didn’t want to chance it in his dinky little neighbourhood. He was four, and he knew if he got cocksuckered by a bloke even just once, he’d be down for the count. He wasn’t risking it, dad, he wasn’t insane.

Peter was in the middle of drawing a really terrible imitation of a magpie — they weren’t in his small village, he missed them — when he heard an awful sawing noise. He dismissed it to be his dad starting up yet another new hobby and continued the beak. Maybe he was finally working on the bathroom again.

Dad had used to do more fidgety things, like bracelets and charms once upon a time with mum, but he went to the more ‘manly’ hobbies after. Dad said manly was better. The first time Peter had clocked onto what Dad was saying about manliness and other fun little sexist things, he’d thought he was joking. After all, what kind of person said that stuff seriously?

People in the past, apparently. People in the 1900’s. People who had previously been outside his circle, but had never really disappeared. Somehow, upon becoming Peter he’d been forced into another political area with different beliefs, and he wasn’t too happy about it.

Peter continued to draw his magpies and birds all the way through the day until he was finally called up for dinner. He raced up and sat at the bench, and his dad put down a meal with sausages and steamed vegetables.

He thanked him and ate quickly. His dad was a good cook at the very least.

“Dad, you think I’ll get a bird as a soulmark?”

Dad grunted in reply while eating. After a few seconds, he replied. “Nah. Bet you’ll get something big.”

“You think so? Like a big animal?”

“Maybe.”

“Or something that moves?”

“Could be.”

“Actually no, it might get annoying after a while. Maybe I’ll get petals like mum did.”

Dad’s expression soured.

Peter continued to eat, his eyes down on his plate. He didn’t notice the change in expression, and so he, therefore, didn’t notice how the mood seemed to darken. And why would he? It was such a small comment, so why would it possibly make the mood so bad?

“Boys don’t get petals.”

Peter corrected him. “People get all sorts of soulmarks.”

“Boys,” he said slowly, “Shouldn’t get petals.”

“Okay.” They didn’t get petals, right.

He looked up and froze at the dark look on his dad’s face, and couldn’t help but think that maybe he’d said something wrong; something more than just mention his mum. But when he looked back on it, he couldn’t spot anything alarming that he might have said to trigger such a reaction. He shoved food in his mouth faster.

His dad calmed down a minute later, and after a brief silence, he started to talk again. “Listen here, bud. We men are fated to be with hot women. All you gotta do is find the right one, and grab ‘er quick.”

Peter felt a bit uneasy, and really didn’t like looking back on his mum as some hot woman his dad managed to ‘grab.’ He played around with his fork. He’d finished eating, but it seemed like it would make him angry if he were to move at that point, (impolite), so he stuck it out and listened to dad talk.

“To get a woman, you need to be tough. Brave. You gotta be a man. You’re not gonna get petals as your soulmark, ‘cos men don’t get girly shit like that. Women like that sort of girly stuff because they’re meant to.”

Peter didn’t really understand, but his dad seemed really into it.

Dad erupted into a massive speech and Peter dutifully ignored him and chewed his cheek. He absently looked out the window and glimpsed the boughs of a large tree a long while away.

Mum got petals as her soulmark. They covered her arm. He had never seen his dad’s soulmark. Dad liked to wear shirts everywhere he went, even when he went for a swim in the lake nearby. And Peter had never caught him coming out of the shower.

Soulmarks, his mind echoed as his dad’s mouth opened and closed, matched. 

Dad didn't think men got petals. Mum had petals. And wait a minute, how did that make sense?

Peter couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, if dad didn’t like petals… then maybe his parents hadn’t been a match after all. It made sense, actually. A lot of sense. They’d never been that close in his memories. Perhaps dad had been a better person around her, but he hadn’t been a saint. So maybe. Just maybe.

“You loved mum, right?” Peter mumbled softly.

Dad looked disappointed that he was interrupted, and looked down at him. “I guess. So?”

“If men don’t get petals, does that mean you’re not mums soulmate?”

Dad snorted, and a bit of food showed through his big toothy grin. “The best thing about your mum,” He said, “Was her tits.” He didn’t answer the question. And, and —

Peter’s jaw clenched. He had always thought that his dad had loved Peter’s mum a little bit more than that; with the way he stared at her photos in the halls sometimes, they must have had something, right? To have that spat out at him was like... well, it was bad. He didn’t like it.

Dad noticed. “Oh toughen up. Ain’t nothing wrong with appreciating a girl’s tits. Liana was smoking, fucking sucked that she had to kick the bucket so soon.”

“Dad?” Peter’s worldview was shaken.

“Want to know a secret, Peter?”

Peter was too busy trying to still his breathing. He wanted to throw his plate at his dad. The anger was fast and hot, and the effort of keeping it back was turning his knuckles white.

“Here it is.” His dad continued, “Sure, I guess I shouldn’t be swearing and all that at a four-year-old. But there’s the thing: you’re four. You won’t remember this past next week, let alone next year. The truth about your mother, Pete, is that she was a whore.”

“Mum loved you,” Peter whispered.

He thought of mum watering the sunflowers every Saturday, and making bracelets with dad in the mornings while laughing over a few well-placed jokes. He thought of mum singing in the morning while making breakfast, and kissing Peter’s cheek when he raced through the house with a small book in tow.

“She was a whore.” Dad repeated slowly as if he was stupid.

(They definitely weren’t soulmates, then. Dad didn’t answer the question, but it was clear.)

“She wasn’t a whore,” He mumbled.

Mum had spent a lot of time with Peter growing up. She braided his hair, and always laughed when she found it was too short for some patterns. She organised his socks according to colour, and bought him puzzles that she helped solve with him. She liked the ring puzzles particularly. She read him books and made fun of dad with him when he’d do weird things like pull silly faces at neighbours backs as they walked by. White noise.

“She was,” He said in a sing-song tone. "If she wasn't matched up with me, who knows what she'd have 'bin up to?"

Mum hugged him close and sang pretty songs under her breath to lull him to sleep.

“She wasn’t a whore.”

Mum smiled in a way that when her cheeks lifted up, the world shone.

“She was,” Dad repeated.

Mum watered the sunflowers with him every Saturday. 

“She wasn’t a whore! She was amazing and brilliant and she deserved much better than you!” He snapped, and tears slowly began to gather in his eyes. “You’re disgusting, I hate you. You’re the worst dad in the world!”

Dad’s cheerful and mocking expression melted like candle wax. “Now, Peter. Watch your tongue.”

“No,” he whispered. Dad still looked unamused, so he raised his voice and repeated himself. “No! Listen, you’re horrible. Ever since mum died, you’ve been the worst. You’re cruel and, and shortsighted and… and, I hate you! Mum was better than you.”

“What do you know?” Dad roared, “You don’t know shit! I bet Liana told you that, didn’t she? She wasn’t good for anything. What are you, a pansy, Peter? Is that what you fucking are? Because it certainly seems like it!”

“You're not even mum’s soulmate are you?” Peter hissed. “I know you’re not. Mum was better than you ever were.”

Dad laughed, and it was cold and low. Peter’s anger dried like water in a desert, and he swallowed as dad rose to his feet and leaned over him. Fear.

“Is that what this is?” He whispered to Peter. “Paranoia? Think your good ol’ dad didn’t find the right whore?”

Dad reached for the edge of his shirt and drew it up slowly, teasingly. It rose over his hips, and then it was held stiffly over his abdomen. Peter breathed heavily, and his mouth felt dry. No.

No.

No.

“Now, Peter. Why don’t you tell me what you see?”

Peter didn’t answer, he just shook his head slowly, his eyes glued to his chest. Over his left hip, under his rib cage, was —

“I’ll answer for you, shall I?” He didn’t grin, but his cold expression seemed almost joyful as if reveling in Peter’s horror. “It’s a jar. And what’s in it?”

“Men don’t have petals,” Peter said slowly. “You said they didn’t have them.”

“Maybe I lied. You won’t tell anyone, will ya?” No wonder he never took his shirt off around Peter. “Good men hide what they’re not supposed to have. Just like we did cutting your hair.”

“Mum was your soulmate.” A revelation. A dawning sense of horror.

“Fucking obviously,” And the shirt dropped.

“Why’d you say that, that — that guys didn’t have petals if you had them?”

“I answered that, didn’t I? Now, I think today’s gone long enough. Why don’t you fuck off to bed?”

Peter stared at the shirt, at the place he knew the jar lay beneath. The jar had been grey and faded, the yellow petals dull and still beneath the foggy glass. It matched his mum, no doubt about it. 

If soulmates were meant to be, then how did that make sense?

His mum had been beautiful. Kind, sweet, motherly. Dad had not been like that even when she was alive, but Peter had never noticed, too caught up in gardening and drawing and building blocks and blanket castles.

Did that mean that his mum had been destined to be fucked over? Even bad people got soulmates. Peter had never understood that more than that day.

“Ungrateful brat.”

He went to bed in cold sweats. His stomach ached and ached, even though it was full.

Even if Peter was good, what was to say he’d get a good soulmate? What was the point of being good when destiny was such a cruel thing?

It must be the case that somewhere in the world, it came to a point where the universe had to share the leftover matches between the people in the world remaining. The ‘two halves of a whole’ theory was just a theory. Peter had thought the soul mark system a fantastic fantasy, but it was nothing but a gamble. 

He didn’t want to be stuck with someone like his dad, just because a mark said so.

(He had been reborn in a tragedy. He just knew it. It was just his luck; no doubt, the universe was laughing at him, and he was one of the unlucky few stuck with a leftover person in the world. Someone outright ghastly and sickly. No doubt, the universe had its eyes on him. No doubt, it expected him to search the world like a lovesick puppy like so many others, only to make fun of him as his soulmate kicked his heart like a can.)

Fuck that. He didn’t owe anyone anything. Hell, he was fine on his own. He didn’t need a soulmate. He didn’t need anyone.

(He woke up to sunshine on his face. He pulled back his curtains to see the flowers that had once prospered across the mailbox and the front garden decimated. The roots were pulled up and dumped in trash cans, and the petals cut up and scattered across the dirt. His stomach still hurt, and when he looked down he saw a large sunflower, spread wide and bright under his ribs in the exact same place his dad’s had been. In the back of his mind he heard a timer start to tick down.)

Chapter Text

Remus didn't expect to be sorted into Gryffindor. Sure, they had all agreed to it, but Sirius had looked so disbelieving that Remus hadn’t taken the idea that seriously either. From their short time together, Remus had gained the perspective that Sirius was as Gryffindor as the stereotype came; so if he didn’t believe he’d get in, what in the hell were Remus’ chances?

But then Sirius had gotten in. So it was clear that the sorting wasn’t a matter of faith, but of actual character. 

Sirius Black, had gotten in.

That was his full name, and he was meant to be as pureblood as you could get. Dad told him about purebloods once, and laughed a lot when he did so. “Inbred up to their noses,” He had said. “And just as nasty to boot.”

Sirius didn’t look very nasty, but Remus had seen his face while he’d been under the hat, and his dad’s words’d clicked in his head firmly. Sirius’ scowl was like a thousand fire ants. 

(But then he’d defied all expectations and cast the hall into silence, and his smile was a thousand times brighter than usual as if to make up for it.)

So if a Black got in, his chances weren’t that bad after all.

And he did. He got in. Remus grinned on his way down to the table.

He sat next to Sirius, who looked less happy than before. Remus could see the glares from the Slytherin table, so he could guess why. Sirius no doubt had a very pureblood idealistic household who were strictly Slytherin and nothing else. Ravenclaw would have been a horror show— Gryffindor was sacrilege.

“Now we’ve just got to wait for James,” Sirius muttered to Remus. 

“Glad you’re here,” Remus replied, his eyes firmly on the hat. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sirius look surprised before smiling as brightly as earlier, and he knew the comment had landed well.

When James got called up, it was no surprise that he ended up in Gryffindor with them. James pulled both Remus and Sirius apart and sat between them. “Hope food arrives soon, I’m starving.” He flicked Sirius’ forehead and grinned when he let out a sharp yelp. “Didn’t know you were a Black. I’m usually strictly against Blacks, you know, as a rule. But you seem alright.”

“My name’s based on a star. Don’t know what you expected.”

“When you grow up hearing names like ‘Slugmorn’ and ‘Dumbledore,’ you eventually start to ignore that kind of stuff.”

Remus frowned and chimed in. “I think one of those names is meant to be Slughorn. Dad mentioned him, he’s the potions professor.”

“Oh, that was what it was!” James laughed, “Well yeah okay, I forgot it, but by the time I was talking it was either ‘Slugmorn’ or ‘Slugcorn.’ I went for the lesser of two evils. Man, I feel bad for the bloke, Slughorn is even worse.”

Sirius looked between the two of them silently, steadily ignoring the glares from his relatives across the hall. They, as the two who were talking to him, got their own fair share of mean looks. But they followed Sirius’ example and ignored it.

“It's a bit of a shame,” Remus said solemnly. “Some people have the worst luck with names.”

“Sorry, Wolfy Mc’wolf? I couldn’t hear you.”

He frowned at James. “You’re just a sad sack because you have the most boring name in existence.”

“Actually,” A Gryffindor sixth year chimed in, “I’m his cousin, and I hear his middle name is Fleamont.”

James squawked. Sirius laughed loudly, and after a while, Remus laughed too.

(Another Gryffindor also sat at their table, but they were too distracted to notice.)

Peter ignored his new roommates. He knew about them, there was no way he didn’t — but he didn’t care about them (or wanted to), so he didn’t bother to smile at them or strike up a conversation. He nodded simply and went to set out his things near his bed.

He ended up a Gryffindor. He didn’t worry about his most likely eventual death at the hands of James’ kid, because he wasn’t going to follow the storyline. He was going to bleed into the background and cruise by life; watching the world go by.

(He wouldn’t die at his own silver hand. He wouldn’t. He’d avoid them all to the very last breath, and die on his own terms.)

“Brave,” The hat had said. “Knowledge beyond your years, stubborn too. Cold, untrusting. And anger, too. Lots of anger. I rarely meet an eleven-year-old as angry as you. You’ll need friends for that, so I know just what to do with you.”

He’d been sorted in one minute. The hat didn’t question him on his knowledge. He didn’t think it cared, or maybe it’d been through it before. Maybe it couldn’t see that far.

He was glad that it hadn’t said anything; if it it made a move to ruin his plans of doing nothing for the next several years, he’d have thrown that hat to the ground and stomped on it.

Maybe it had seen that.

His roommates talked loudly, and they laughed even louder. While they did that, Peter prepared for bed. He slipped on mismatched socks and lazily crawled onto the covers.

“Really?” The one he knew to be James asked. “He crashed right into the statue?”

“Yeah! Poor Reggie didn’t understand that when you put wheels on your feet and get pushed down the stairs, you move. Mum wasn’t too pleased.”

Remus snorted. “I notice you used the word ‘pushed.’”

Sirius bashfully turned his head.

Peter straightened up his pillows one last time and arranged his blankets just the way he liked them. He’d gotten changed in the bathroom while the others had changed out in the open. He was about to hitch up the sheets when his roommates seemed to look at him all at once. 

Peter felt like he missed something.

“Sorry, what?”

Sirius smiled awkwardly. “We were talking about soulmates.”

Oh, fun.

“Yeah?” He didn’t care.

“I’ve got this,” James said proudly to his friends out of the corner of his mouth. He displayed his arm, and a little bubble with three Z’s could be seen near his elbow. “This is my mark, I’ll make it quick since you look like you’re going to bed. I’m James Potter. That one’s Sirius Black, and silent but deadly is Remus Lupin.”

Sirius winked. Remus frowned. “I can introduce myself.” He turned to Peter and smiled in greeting, “Well, you know who I am now. Nice to meet you.”

Sirius tackled Remus onto his bed, and Remus let out a strangled and surprised laugh. 

James cheered them on, and Peter was about to turn back to his bed when Sirius stopped elbowing Remus in the ribs long enough to quickly gesture at his arm, which had a big black dog running across it. Remus climbed off the bed and neatened up his hair, Peter didn’t see the point of that because they were just about to go to sleep, but he didn’t speak up about it. Why would he?

“Dog,” Sirius said simply. “His name is Snuffles.”

“Snuffles?” James laughed, and he was the next tackled into the bed.

“I’ve got a flower,” Remus spoke over James, and elbowed him. He moved to do something — presumably to show it — when a hand reached out and tugged him down to the bed to wrestle. Were boys always like this? He couldn’t remember them acting this excitedly the first time around.

“Cool,” Peter intoned, “I’m Peter Pettigrew, and my soulmate’s dead.”

The room stilled and fell quiet. All three boys paused and stared at him with wide mouths.

“Goodnight!” He closed his curtains, turned off the light next to his bed, and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

James, Sirius, and Remus stared at the closed curtains.

Huh.

“That... just happened,” James said slowly. 

“What a bright ray of sunshine,” Sirius intoned.

Remus looked at them with furrowed eyebrows. The three of them separated and sat on the middle bed, huddled up close. “His soulmate is... cut him some slack. Maybe it’s… maybe it’s recent.”

His good mood vanished, and he felt everything inside himself calm down and relax in a put off manner. It was like a bucket of cold water had been poured over his head.

“You can’t just brush past that!” James insisted.

Remus remembered the wolf and the parents that never stopped worrying. 

“We can. He’s obviously not open to talking, so we should just let him be for the moment. He’ll talk to us if he wants to. Also, I’m tired, and Sirius is halfway to his bed already.”

James mouthed ‘traitor’ to Sirius. 

Sirius shrugged and put a knee onto his bed. He picked up the blanket and straightened it out. He then proceeded to stare at the colours for a long while, and shook his head a bit before settling under the covers. All the while James frowned at him.

“He’s interesting,” James said after a while. “I want to see what he’s like. I said I’d befriend everyone, so, he’s lucky number three!” 

Remus straightened books on his side table, “Do it in the morning.”

James sighed. “Fine! You guys are no fun,” He pursed his lips and face-planted onto his bed.

The lights went out.

There was a pause.

“Forgot to take my glasses off.”

Peter wasn’t good with people. He might have been if he tried, but there really was no point to it. He was good with a few things, and if one of those things was ‘the ability to make people avoid you like the plague,’ then so what? He took advantage of that ability because in the end, it was for his own good.

He said what he said because he knew it would work as a deterrent. It would keep him safe, in other words.

It was better than not showering and getting people away from him that way. His new body appeared decent, and he didn’t want to ruin that. He wasn’t ruining his blonde curls for anything.

What Peter hadn’t been expecting was for James to be so persistent. James treated Peter’s personality as a game, like Peter was a thing to conquer. Sirius didn’t seem to notice, but Peter reckoned Remus did. James didn’t hold back at all when asking about things he really wasn’t supposed to in a social setting, or at all.

“When did they die?” Wasn’t a good question, but James asked it anyway. Peter had rolled his eyes and moved a desk away from him, McGonagall looked astounded on his behalf and didn’t berate Peter for moving. Peter liked McGonagall. She had made ten students shriek when she transfigured from a cat to a person.

So what if Peter had shrieked too? The moment was gold.

James had gotten into the habit of looking over Peter’s arms and body whenever he saw him, and Peter was understandably uncomfortable. He didn’t think James meant to upset him, in James’ mind it might have been friendly teasing. Peter thought that James was more mentally constipated than he was.

“What does it look like? Come on, please? I know they’re supposed to disappear but since you hide in the bathroom to get changed, well...”

Peter hated eleven-year-olds.

“Go choke,” Peter scoffed. Remus didn’t look surprised, but Sirius gasped, defensive. James followed Peter to potions, and the two other boys were on James’ heels. It felt like Peter was leading a parade.

Peter almost missed the days he practiced light footsteps so that he’d perfect the art of escaping to his room without his dad noticing and yelling at him.

Almost. His dad was an asshole. Peter couldn’t believe he used to think he was a good person. He scoffed again, and James looked at him oddly.

“You got something in your throat?” He asked, with no hostility. Peter hated that James meant no harm. It made it harder for Peter to slide him into a category in his mind that simply read, ‘annoying persistent fuckhead.’ By that point, James was more in the ‘annoying persistent dick’ column. Slight swearword change, huge difference. And only because James had good intentions. Probably.

“No,” He mumbled.

“You know, my dad once got a frog stuck in his throat!” James started to weave a storyline and Peter wanted to run away to a tropical oasis somewhere and not look back.

He could feel Sirius’ glare on the back of his neck.

Peter ignored them, and felt his patience start to fray like an old rope. He just wanted to be alone. Was that so bad?

Chapter Text

Peter found Hogwarts fascinating. He didn’t like it, but he didn’t hate it either. 

It was whatever.

Most of the time he was just tired. 

Tired, because of the amount of students around the place. Tired, because of the cats wandering around the hallways. Tired, because of the paintings; which rarely shut up. Tired because of James Potter. Because of screaming plants in Herbology, or sixth years making too much noise in the common room. Tired because of the monotonous rhythm of trying to fall under everyone’s radars.

And studying. He didn’t do it as much as he should have, but when he did — not too surprisingly, it was tiring. Because apparently he had an affinity for the feeling.

Some students at Hogwarts were insane in their studies. He caught students studying in the Great Hall during meals, sometimes forgoing the tables completely and camping out on the floor in circles. They never got told off. Whenever a test was coming up, or worse yet, an exam, people soon learned to stay away from the Ravenclaws.

There was one young Ravenclaw who had an unfortunate habit of siccing her tiger soulmark on anyone who interrupted her work. 

First years, collectively, didn’t need to study that much. But when he did, he holed himself up in a discrete corner of the library. There, he flipped through pages at a rapid pace and glared at anyone who looked like they had dark hair and glasses. Like a certain James Potter, who wouldn’t leave him alone.

(But luckily, Peter had found out a way to keep him at a distance. The solution was thus; he pilloried the boy by throwing a tiny pebble at him. 

And okay. So maybe throwing stones wasn’t a good solution to dealing with problems; that being James’ mindless attempts to befriend him. But James was so thickheaded that Peter felt like physically deterring was his only option; or his final option, at least. He’d tried talking already. He’d tried politely asking, and rudely asking, and outright swearing at him. When that had all failed, he’d turned to violence. So what?

And, you know, it worked. Peter had taken to carrying it around even during classes, and as soon as James turned his attention to Peter to no doubt ask yet another inane or annoying question, Peter pulled it out and showed him. And like a cat shown a shower, he turned his attention away again. And hissed. Again, like a cat. It was kind of weird.

After the first three months of Peter sequestering himself away from his dorm mates, Remus had seemed to notice that James wouldn’t give up on asking Peter annoying questions. Which was great but useless. Until, it seemed, Christmas came along, where Remus gifted Peter a tiny crappy-quality water gun, with ‘Potter Repellant’ sharpied on the side. He, too, must have noticed James’ similarity to a cat whenever Peter whipped out his stone.

It was a nice gesture, one that Peter had appreciated. Peter had yet another weapon in his arsenal. He felt a bit bad that he hadn’t given him anything in return, because he’d not thought he was close enough to any of the marauders for exchanging Christmas gifts. Remus was just nice, he supposed. James had given him something too — but Peter refused to call him nice, even for that.

James had been indignant when he noticed Remus’ bad quality gift; it was the type that could be bought for thirty cents or so at a corner store. Not that Peter knew why. His frown at Remus was almost in a defensive way, but had brightened up when Peter’d snorted at the sight of the toy. James probably thought the snort was derisive. It wasn’t, it was humoured, but whatever. 

Yeah, Christmas was real confusing. So, in the typical Peter-like-fashion he so liked to adopt: he ignored the situation entirely.

James had gotten him a packet of magic stickers, which Peter crammed into the bottom of his trunk. Sirius hadn’t gotten him anything, but Peter hadn’t expected him to; really, he hadn’t. Again, why had those two gifted him things? He hadn’t contributed to any sort of relationship with them. 

Ignore it, ignore it.

Sirius was... angry at Peter, he thought. He was protective of his friends. He therefore, funnily enough, didn’t take kindly to Peter throwing rocks at his best friend. 

(He wasn’t as upset when Peter started to use the water gun after Christmas — probably because he found it funny. Peter’d caught him laughing once. But unfortunately, the water gun would get replaced with the rock again soon. It kept breaking.)

“I’m telling you, James, he’s bad! He should have been in Slytherin, I swear.” 

Peter’s back was pressed against the wall, and he strained his ears to hear the two boys in the corridor. It was after classes, and he had been going back to the library to study when he’d seen them, so he’d hid to listen in. The faces they were making were interesting; he really didn’t want to interrupt. He was curious, which was why he stayed rather than finding another way around them.

He held the books to his chest and tried to breath quieter. He felt a bit like a young school girl. Which was weird, because he was very much a boy. He’d know, he checked.

“Many people say you were meant to be in Slytherin,” James defended him, as loyal to Peter as ever. Too loyal.

(Peter didn’t deserve that.)

“Shut up!” Sirius bristled. “Shut up, you don’t know anything! I’m not... I’m not. I thought you knew that —“

“Exactly, you’re not.” James agreed easily, “Come on, he got sorted here too. I don’t think the hat makes mistakes.”

It did, if Peter remembered correctly.

“I’m not meant to be in Slytherin,” Sirius hissed, surprisingly hostile. “I... deserve to be here.”

“I know, mate. You’re the bravest Gryff of us all.”

“Yeah, and... Peter isn’t.”

“Sirius,” James drew out, “don't.”

“He’s not a good guy, James! You need to understand that. He... he ignores us, he doesn’t think you’re his friend. He’s different, and maybe you can’t see it, but I can. Sometimes it’s like he’s — I don’t know, an old person or something. He doesn’t suit his face. He’s also tells us to, and I quote, ‘fuck off,’ all the time. You shouldn’t hang out with him!” 

Peter cradled a book to his chest. It was true, so why was he so upset?

Suck it up.

His dad’s voice ran through his head, and he held in a breath and let it out slowly.

(“Want to know a secret, Peter?”)

(It was good that Peter understood their characters from the very beginning. It was good. It was fine, it was fine, it was all well and fucking dandy. It would... it would only benefit him.)

(Well shit, maybe he was manipulative.)

“He’s not a bad guy. He’s just... shy. He’s interesting, and you can’t tell me not to be friends with him!”

Peter found himself waiting for Sirius’ words to no doubt inform James just how wrong he was, when Peter caught himself and realised that well, fuck that. Peter didn’t care. He didn’t.

Sirius was right, Peter was terrible and horrible and bad and bad and bad. He was cold and withdrawn. He didn’t need anyone but himself. He was odd and not right for his skin and not right for the world and if other people saw that then so what?

Peter was many things. Small, mean, angry. Tired.

Bad.

The argument was... good. Great. It was an opportunity. 

With that realisation, Peter decided to nip the argument in the bud, and walked around the corner and acted like it was a surprise to see them there. The two exchanged looks and James stepped forward to no doubt smile and greet him cheerfully like always, but Peter glared and took a step back. He was always one for the dramatics.

Peter slowly drew in a deep breath and gripped the strap of his bag.

“He’s right,” Peter said. The statement revealed that he had been listening the whole time. See? Dramatic. 

Sirius clenched his jaw.

“I’m not a good person. I know I don’t look it, but I really am rather terrible.” He made sure to say it in a tone that one usually used to comment on the weather. “I’m not shy. I don’t want to be your friend. I find you annoying, insensitive, childish and boring.“

(He would not die at his own silver hand. He would not be a friend to them, he would not be a traitor, he would not be anything but what he himself wanted to be.)

If he was meant to be by himself, then, who cared?

(If he accomplished that by looking down on everyone around him, then who fucking cared?)

James looked like those words hit close to home, and just when Peter was feeling slight relief, and something else he couldn’t quite identify, James snapped. “You’re not a bad person! You’re just...” Peter raised his eyebrows mockingly.

“He is,” Sirius snipped. “He says it like it’s nothing. Like he’s proud of it. And what if it’s not true, like you think? Just because he thinks it’s true, he believes it; means he’ll become a bastard either way! You’re better off not hanging around him.”

James, for the first instance in all the time Peter had known him, looked unsure. “You don’t really think that, do you?” Who he addressed looked unclear.

Peter licked his lips. 

(He thought of cut down sunflowers, shredded in the dirt. He thought of a man meant to be Peter, strangled by his own hand, doomed by the friendships from his youth. He always knew he was going to avoid those friendships. He didn’t feel bad for it. It was self preservation, hardly a crime.)

Peter had always been selfish.

Sick of the confrontation, he flipped them off and walked down the hallway. He felt... uneasy, at the idea of speaking aloud again. Of standing there and listening to them argue any longer on whether he was good or not. Of remembering. No wands were aimed in his direction, so he took advantage of their silence to rush down the hallway cooly.

If he acted alright, then he’d be perceived as alright. And he was. He was alright.

“He’s a dick,” Peter heard Sirius say to a quiet James as Peter approached the corner. “Told you, you’re better off without him. C’mon, let’s get dinner.”

James’ voice was barely above a whisper. “But I thought...”

Peter looked back once, but they had both disappeared behind the corner.

(So what if he was selfish? Or dumb? Or mean? Or not quite right? He was alive, and he wanted to stay that way.)

(He told himself that he was the victim. That was easier to deal with.)

Maybe he was.

“He’s always sick!” Sirius complained face-down into his pillow. 

His voice was muffled and whiney, and James must have been imitating him, because his answering whine was wordless and just as muffled.

Peter flipped the page of the book he was reading. The curtain was fully drawn around his bed, and Peter had used permanent sticking charms to stick pictures of frogs to it. 

Frogs were great.

He’d asked Professor McGonagall, and she’d told him that keeping frogs as pets was allowed due to their close genetic relationship with toads. That meant that in the future, he would be allowed to get a frog. He would have started saving up for it — by stealing money from his dad’s wallet — but he didn’t have access to that at the moment, and he was also aware that he could always just walk outside and find his own frog.

They were literally everywhere at Hogwarts. 

“I miss him! I want to throw a pillow at his face.”

James gave an affirmative whine but otherwise didn’t answer. 

Peter continued to think about frogs. About their small faces and little sticky hands. About how when they sat on glass, you could see how their legs curled up. Animals, frogs, whatever — he loved them. They were so simple, so easy to please, and they always loved him. He had a thing with animals. Mary used to be called a fairy princess by her mother because of it. Butterflies would always land nearby, on her nose and in her hair.

Some people didn’t like that. Didn’t like the bugs and the beetles when they came by. But Mary loved them. She loved nature. So Peter loved nature too. 

“I swear one day he’ll tell me how he keeps getting permission to go home. Not that I want to go home, but Merlin I’m curious.”

“Maybe he needs to visit his soulmate back at his house?”

“He hasn’t found his soulmate, dumbass.”

James hummed, “It was just an idea.”

Peter rolled his eyes and flipped another page. 

Well, he wasn’t paying attention to the book anymore. He decided to give up on it, so he made himself more comfortable in the blankets and curled up. The fact that the house-elves cleaned his sheets all the time was nothing short of fantastic; when he would inevitably move away from everything, it would be with a house-elf in tow. Animals. Creatures. Amazing.

Becoming an animagus had never looked so appealing. Would he do it? No, too much effort. But would it be cool? Yeah. 

James’s bed creaked, and he lifted his head from his pillow to speak louder. “It’s his mum who was sick this time, so maybe being sick runs in their family.”

Peter massaged his eyelids. ‘Being sick runs in their family.’ Alright. It sounded weird, but it was funny, he guessed. He was in a new age-group, and so he heard interesting things every day. Just the way words were put together… fascinating stuff. 

“Poor lad. He was looking peaky. Argh,” James groaned, “I want him back!”

“You act like Remus is your soulmate.”

James snorted, and the sound of ruffling fabric passed through Peter’s curtain. A frog on his curtain smiled disarmingly at Peter when he shot a huffy glare in the general direction of his dorm-mates. Funny to listen to indeed, but it’d be great if they were quiet sometimes. 

Sirius laughed. “Notebooks? You got yourself a Ravenclaw. Or maybe it really is Remus.”

Ah, James must have revealed his soulmark in order to disprove Sirius. 

Peter was really bored, apparently, if he was paying attention.

“Nah, she’s a girl I reckon, and she’s got to be a Gryffindor.”

“If you’re sure, mate.”

“‘Course.”

Peter leaned back in the brief lull in conversation. His eyelids drooped.

“Hey, James?”

“Yeah?”

“Boobs.”

There was a loud shriek, and James must have tackled Sirius as the ground shook.

“Stop making me think about them! What if she sees?”

Although Peter hadn’t gotten a full explanation of James’ soulmark, he had managed to figure out that anything James thought about would appear in his soulmate’s thought bubble and vice-versa. It was placed on James’ arm. From what he’d heard and seen, his soulmate was rather interested in sugary dishes, books, flowers and particular silhouettes which must represent people. The images flickered around and changed constantly, like a thought process. 

In figuring this out, Sirius had decided to fuck with James and his soulmate. Did Peter participate? No. Did he pay attention when Sirius did it? Yes. Peter didn’t have a lot of things to entertain him, so this was like a cup of cold apple juice on a hot Australian day.

“Boobs,” Sirius repeated between gasps for air. 

“Suck a dick!”

Sirius gasped dramatically. “You kiss your mother with that mouth? No, don’t make that face. Don’t let me stop you Jamie, I’m sure your soulmate loves seeing dicks on their skin too.”

“See, this is why I want Remus back.”

“We both know he would join in.”

Peter frowned softly to himself and curled up tighter in his blankets.

Eventually it got dark, and the voices hushed down to soft snores and the occasional delirious mumble. Peter drew back his curtain and snuck into the bathroom, where he changed into pyjamas and brushed his teeth. On the way back he paused and looked at Remus’ empty bed. It was made, with the pillows slightly lopsided. A soft blue knitted blanket draped across the covers.

Peter bit his lip, and looked towards the two filled beds with their curtains drawn. He kneeled down beside his own and took out a box he had locked with a magical password. 

“Liana,” he whispered, and the box popped open to reveal a large variety of sweets and candy. He dug out a couple of chocolate frogs and put them on Remus’ nightstand. He didn’t use the box often and mostly forgot about it, but sometimes he used it for stashing things.

Peter hadn’t given Remus a Christmas gift in exchange for the water gun, so it was to pay him back in a way. He didn’t want to be in any sort of debt, stated or not. He also didn’t mind Remus; he was nice without being overbearing like James had been. Remus didn’t push Peter for a friendship.

(Peter also knew that Remus had a tough life in the past and it would continue to be hard in the future. It wasn’t a sin to want to help make it a slight bit better. He wasn’t searching for a friendship, he was just paying back a kind action.)

James had given up on Peter after that conversation in the corridor.

It was a relief, but it was by no means a memory Peter looked back on and smiled about. Things were easier, now, though.

He turned off his light, and curled under the blankets. Peter watched the frogs leap around the inside of his curtains, and finally, drifted off to sleep with a smile on his face.

Chapter Text

The students at Hogwarts had a big variety of soulmarks. It wasn’t out of place for a teacher to yell something like, “Please refrain from letting your monkey do handstands on my desk,” or “I don’t care that you want to see your soulmate, it’ll happen eventually, stop flashing everyone.” 

Peter was tired. Entertained thoroughly, but tired. 

Soulmates and soulmarks were in everyday life, so much to an extent that they offered a class on it once students were in third year. Peter didn’t plan to take it, or anyone in Gryffindor as far as he knew, bit maybe they would. He doubted it, though. There wasn’t much to say on soulmates that people hadn’t searched for out of curiosity themselves. So you’d think it’d be popular, but it wasn’t. It had a reputation for being repetitive and boring.

Anyway, soulmates were incorporated into everyday life. An introduction could be as simple as, “Seth Evergarden, Cottage, on my hip.” Or as lengthy and thought provoking as, “Dirk Smith, got a picture of myself on my bicep. I’ve found my soulmate, it’s me. It’s understandable because I’m hot as — oh hey Professor, fancy seeing you here, my, aren’t the mandrakes flourishing?”

Life at Hogwarts was interesting. But for him, heading about soulmarks all the time grew to be very boring.

(It wasn’t because he was jealous. He was just... tired.)

Well, most of the time it was boring. But some people, like James, were like walking soap operas. It wasn’t unheard of for people to bet on relationships, or to spy on people for the entertainment value. Peter did it too. Hard to admit, but he did. He sat nearby discussions in the common room frequently, specifically to eavesdrop. Sometimes he heard the most thought-provoking things. Like once he learnt that some person thought they had narcolepsy for thirteen years, before they figured that their partner had the ability to put them to sleep by touching a weirdly shaped mole on their forehead. Their partner acted like a tv-remote. Wild.

“She was thinking about petunias,” James bragged from on his bed. He was spreadeagled on his back, his head at a cushion so he could watch as the little thought bubble popped up, flickering through images. “Isn’t she the best?”

Peter leaned back on his own bed too, books surrounding him at all ends. He was highlighting information and putting them in dot points on parchment at his side. The library was closed, because someone had accidentally given one of the books self awareness. Long story.

Personally, Peter didn’t think that it could’ve possibly be an accident, but whatever. Unfortunately the ordeal meant he had to study in either the common room or his bed, and the common room was too cold. And the sixth years were too loud. They never shut up. Ever. And somehow they always mentioned to talk about the most boring shit.

“Now it’s about a person, is it me? I bet it’s me.” On his arm was a blank profile, and James rubbed it with a goofy grin that split his face. It must’ve hurt.

“Couldn’t be, that silhouette is too put together, your hair’s too messy,” Remus teased. 

“That’s Remus talk for ‘fucked up.’” Sirius clarified.

Peter found eleven year olds fascinating.

“I wonder what she’s seeing in hers?” James ignored them.

“Hair?” Remus suggested.

“Boobs?” 

“Sirius, shut up!”

Remus grinned suddenly. “Oh yeah, she was definitely watching her mark then.”

On James’ arm was an exclamation point, and then a barely covered female chest popped up. James gasped, horrified. Sirius cackled and grinned wickedly. 

“Shit!”

“I fucking love this,” Sirius barked, and loud laughing followed. 

“Sirius!”

“Now she’s probably seeing a profile — oh look, it’s a horrified expression. Didn’t know your arm could show emotions. That’s wicked!” Remus teased James, who looked like he was about to die.

Peter glimpsed a little face that resembled a shocked emoticon. He subtly pinched his arm so he didn’t laugh.

“Can’t believe I used to be jealous of you for that sort of soulmark!” Sirius said between gasps, “this is brilliant.”

“Guys! Stop! She probably hates me now!” James cried out.

“Boobs.”

“Sirius!” James hissed.

“That’s definitely an angry face.” Remus mused.

“Sirius!” James repeated, and then tackled him off his bed, to the floor. Sirius’ back hit the ground amongst laundry and discarded studying supplies. Sirius coughed out loud laughter amongst wheezes.

He watched for a few seconds, but then put down his equipment. His studying was done. He didn’t want to move, but he’d have to at some point unless he wanted to risk someone tackling someone nearby his bed and have them knock him around. Knowing how rowdy the marauders were, there was definitely a chance. 

So it’d be a good decision to leave. Unfortunately. He didn’t want to, but it was either that or risking being jostled and he just wasn’t in the mood for the latter. 

Peter stretched and stood up, and the room fell silent. He politely ignored them and absently ruffled his light hair. He then bundled up some books and walked to the door. The library wasn’t open, but maybe people had books that were already checked out he could trade with? The common room was cold but maybe someone put the fireplace on?

The room remained silent until he closed the door, where he heard the tail end of a whisper. He couldn’t make out the words.

Peter sat down on a chair near the fire — he was right, someone lit it — and quietly surveyed the occupants of the common room, but couldn’t spot any from his year with a book that he needed.

Well, fuck, maybe he should have just stayed. He wasn’t going back though. That seemed too awkward. So instead, he sat there for a few minutes more, flicking through moving pictures in his textbooks.

“Hey, you’re Peter Pettigrew, right?”

Rarely a good sign when someone knew your name before you introduced yourself. 

A girl with bright green eyes looked down at him, with residue anger in the lines on her forehead. She looked like she was trying to keep a sweet face on. Her smile read ‘happy,’ her eyes read ‘murder.’ Peter had that familiar thought — ‘oh shit, was that my fault?’

“Yes.” He answered, even if he just wanted to run away. 

“That book, there. Can I borrow that after you’re done with it? Usually I’d go to the library but someone cursed the books and so the teachers barricaded us out.”

He hadn’t spotted her when he had done a cursory glance, and it was good she’d had the same idea as he had. She didn’t have any books with her, so they must’ve been back up in her room.

Peter frowned. “Yeah, I’m done with them already — and I thought it was only one book that got cursed.”

“I think it was contagious. Dunno, think it was a senior prank. Weird, ‘cos we’ve got a few months left until the holidays so doing it now it just, well, weird! Don’t really like that word but… anyway. Thanks, Pettigrew.”

She took the book and put it under her arm. She turned around just as she was about to step away and grinned at him. Her face was open and teasing, all anger gone, “By the way, I’m Lily Evans. Nice to meet you.”

Haha. Shit. He really should have caught on as soon as he saw the red hair. Unfortunately, he was stupid! Great!

“Peter,” he said, even though she already knew.

Lily didn’t reply for a bit. She hesitated. “Aren’t you gonna ask what my soulmark is?”

“No?”

“Oh, good. Sorry, it’s just that here everyone does it. Back at home we had to ask after it, and here, wizards say it as soon as they introduce their names! It’s really odd,” she explained, and looked around briefly before sitting on a chair nearby. Her legs stretched out closer to the bustling fire. She turned to him and shrugged, “I’ll get this back to you by tomorrow.”

“You’re a muggleborn?” He already knew that, but it’d be awkward to blatantly ignore her after she’d so excitedly started chatting with him. He felt like a pineapple next to a puppy; where he was saying the bare minimum while she chatted her head off. It felt rude of him. And sure, Peter was usually rude, but something in his stomach was jabbing him and urging him to talk more.

So he listened to his instinct, and tried to be more open in response to her. He didn’t listen to his stomach much — annoying, nasty and counterproductive thing it was — but he decided to listen to it. Just once, despite logic.

Lily grinned. “Yeah. I am!”

“Ah, me too,” Peter volunteered the information wearily. He knew Lily wouldn’t judge him for it, but people in the wizarding world weren’t always accepting, so if people were to overhear then it would be risky business all around. Gryffindor common room or not.

The funny thing was that he didn’t even know if he was a muggleborn. His mother could have been a witch for all he knew. But the original Pettigrew, he thought, was a muggleborn. Probably. So he must be one too? One day he might find out that he wasn’t, but for now, he was pretty sure he was a muggleborn.

“Really?” She squealed, “Practically no one is! Oh, I was so surprised when I got my letter! An owl, you know? Mum screamed when it flew through the window, it was great. Professor McGonagall was the one to explain everything. Who did you have?”

Peter blinked. “Flitwick.” And Merlin, hadn’t that been an experience.

“Yeah? What’d your parents do? Did you see his mark?”

“Dad was pissed,” Peter laughed fakely. “Threw a fit, Flitwick must’ve had the shock of his life. Yeah, I saw his mark, it’s pretty cool.” Flitwick had a dragonfly that flew around his head. 

“A fit?” Lily asked, eyes wide. “What’d he do?”

The fact that she didn’t ask after his mum gave her points. 

And.

Peter, well, he found that he didn’t mind Lily. She was open and nice without being overbearing like James. She was childish, but it wasn’t in a pressuring way. He also knew enough from the books that she didn’t take shit, which was always a good quality to have. Hopefully that quality wouldn’t backfire on him — because, well.

He wanted to befriend her. Again, despite logic.

Maybe when she got along with James, he’d stop. But until then, she seemed alright. It’d make his life more interesting if nothing else. He couldn’t keep sneaking around listening to gossip for entertainment. Right? He could be selfish.

(And he was lonely. It wasn’t nice, it wasn’t, it wasn’t, and she was so nice and happy and couldn’t he just be selfish for once in his life?)

“Pettigrew? Hello? What’d he do?”

“My dad or Flitwick?”

“Your dad.”

“Threw a chair. Swore a lot, it was great.”

“He did what?” Lily gasped, and paid him her full attention. “Really?”

“Yeah he —“ Peter froze, and remembered that that wasn’t normal. “Was really surprised. Flitwick nearly had to restrain him.”

That was a lie.

Flitwick had restrained him. Dad had gotten a stern talking to, and on the way out the door, Flitwick had pulled Peter aside and asked if everything was alright. Peter had said that it was. 

(What if they put him in an orphanage? He didn’t need that. He had everything in that house, and it wasn’t as if his dad ever did anything to him he couldn’t handle. Peter was a strong person. He was fine.)

(He didn’t want to leave the house, with mum’s charms hanging from some dusty points in the ceiling, and the painted walls his mum had done once upon a time that dad never covered up.)

So when Flitwick had pulled him aside, Peter had smiled and lied and assured him that everything was alright. Peter lied a lot. 

Lily laughed, clearly not thinking that his dad’s actions had been out of violence. “That’s incredible, your dad must be quite the character! My parents were pretty groovy about the whole thing.”

“Didn’t you say your mum screamed?”

“Once!” She insisted. “It was my sister who —“ she trailed off. “They accepted it easily. I was doing weird — no, odd — things for ages.”

“Like what?”

Lily had gotten comfortable on her chair, and had edged it closer at some point. She cradled the book while she talked, and lit up the room with her grin. She had looked unsettled when she’d initially approached him. All of that’d faded.

“Made flowers bloom. I could sort of drift off swings, and make grass grow taller. Made my teacher’s wig go purple. It was good she didn’t catch me, I wouldn’t be able to explain that if I tried! In all honesty, I already knew I was a witch. Sev told me.”

“Sev?”

“Severus Snape! He’s in Slytherin, and he might seem sort of mean on the surface but he’s actually really nice. He’s been my best friend since I was eight.”

Oh, he forgot that Snape was someone that existed. 

He wondered whether the addition of soulmarks to the world had changed Snape’s personality significantly. Peter hadn’t been a fan of his original personality. He was surprised he hadn’t seen the mythical rivalry between Snape and the marauders yet.

“And,” Lily continued, “he told me all about the wizarding world. We live nearby so we’ve always been able to visit each other all the time.”

“He seems nice.” Hopefully he wasn’t completely hung up on Lily. And if he was, hopefully it wasn’t too evident.

“He is,” she gushed. “He’s so nice and helpful and great and, well, awesome. Hey, once the library is up and running, you want to study with us? It’ll be fun, I swear!”

Peter bit his lip. He looked at Lily, with her fire engine red hair, shining green eyes and massive grin.

She didn’t seem like a mean person. She would be alright to befriend.

Wouldn’t she?

She wasn’t James, who once befriended wouldn’t leave until his dying day. She wasn’t Sirius, who was too brash and loud and reckless. She also wasn’t Remus, someone who would surely figure out everything about him in less than a year.

(He didn’t need his roommates. Any of them. He knew their type; once he joined, Peter knewhe’d never be able to leave, no matter how much he urged himself otherwise.)

And that’d be his downfall.

(Maybe they’d try to reel him in with talks of ‘friendship’ and ‘trust.’ Peter knew better than to accept that, but he would, because he was Peter; fickle and deep, deep down, childish too, and searching for acceptance. He knew, he knew, he knew that no matter how much he were to hypothetically share about himself; about Her, about Harry Potter, about his mum and his dad — no matter how much they told him in return to have faith in them, it would all be for nothing.)

(The universe didn’t work that way. It wouldn’t cut him a break, he knew better. He knew better.)

He knew better.

The universe, once he shared everything on his mind, once they told him they trusted him and wanted to be his friend anyway because surely if Peter knew all about that, then surely he wouldn’t repeat those mistakes and... and, and. And, then they’d accept him and Peter would accept them in return, and then the universe would get angry or something.

Right?

It’d get, it’d get angry and create a new prophecy and make things harder and harder and harder and harder and twist things so much, that Peter wouldn’t be able to make heads or tails of anything.

But Peter knew better! Peter knew that if he just kept things as linear as possible, kept things as they were supposed to be — soulmates and soulmarks added to the equation or not — then things would go better. He’d do his best to preserve things, he’d do everything the same except befriend the three boys back up in his dorm.

Because once he befriended them. Well, he knew what would happen then.

Peter would change the world for his own sake, because he was selfish (he tried to fool himself by sometimes by saying he wasn’t, but that was a lie) and cruel. Because he was fucked up in the head, like his dad told him. Because he was mindless and sociopathic and guess what! He didn’t fucking care! 

(But Lily — Lily was, Lily was —)

Lily was quick to anger, straightforward and smart. If Peter said something bad to her in an effort to make her leave him, for her own good, then she would leave.

She was good.

Easy to throw away. And that was what he thought of her; he thought her a tool, because Peter was flawed more than he was decent. Because he was fucked up. Because he was evil. A bastard. And Lily was someone he could discard simply and easily whenever he wanted to.

And he would throw her away. Because that was just who he was; selfish. Always.

“I’d love to sit with you sometime,” Peter replied.

He wouldn’t mind befriending Snape either. So what if Snape was a jerkward? It wasn’t like Peter was a saint. And Snape was just like Lily; quick to anger, quick to leave. He was a tool too. 

(And Lily smiled, and Peter smiled back.)

And Peter was...

Tired of being labelled a villain all the time. Tired of being labelled silent and mean and strange; by himself and others. If that was what he was labelled, then fine. 

That was who he was going to be.

If he befriended Snape and Lily, he’d be a little less lonely, too.

Who knew? Maybe they’d actually become close.

(See? Selfish. Some part of him said watch the world crumble.)

There were two months until first year would end, and Peter’s roommates had all snuck out. He was impressed. That it had taken them that long. Or taken that long for Peter to notice.

As soon as the whispers went out the door, Peter sprung open the curtains and walked to the centre of the room where he inhaled and exhaled.

Alone.

It was good to be alone sometimes. He took the time to lazily spin in a circle, and listened to the wind bat against the window. It was night, which was obvious in the lull of noise and the quiet occasional clicks of the clock over the door that he could actually hear. 

It wasn’t like the clock stopped during the day, but there were so many distractions that it almost seemed that way.

Over James’ bed were pictures of Quidditch teams and his friends. Over Sirius’ were pictures of wizarding bands, and Peter suspected that in the future they would be joined by images of muggle bands and motorbikes. Remus’ bed area was kept blank other than a few personal touches, like the blanket from his home over his bed and the books by his bedside. There was a knitted scarf shoved in a boot next to his side-table.

Peter’s bed area was slightly more clustered. There were stickers on his lampshade that showed animals and plants, pictures of Lily and Snape were beside his bed on the wall — they had ended up becoming friends, and he was proud of them, yet he’d be even more proud if Snape wasn’t such an asshole — and at the corner of his bed hung a beaded charm. It wasn’t one that his mum had made, he had made it himself in an attempt to imitate her and get close to her memory.

If someone sat on his bed and extended the curtains, they’d see the frogs that were jumping around in the pictures stuck to it. There were also frogs that had been hand painted on, jumping around, sporting bonnets and other such knick-knacks, but they were significantly more blotchy and ugly. Peter hadn’t charmed them off because he didn’t know how to. 

The entire room was covered in rubbish. Empty chocolate frog packets, discarded parchment and quills, old prophet papers and trunks open that were spilling their contents onto the floor. 

Someone had decided to not clean the room but cleared a path to each of the four beds, which also lead to the bathroom and the front dorm door. Peter suspected Remus, because Peter’s bed had a path too, which the others wouldn’t have done.

Well, maybe, you never know.

Either way, the path was wide and had objects shoved to the side on either end. The dorm resembled the room of lost things. When Peter had first seen the path, he had immediately turned around once he walked into the room, closed the door from outside, and covered his mouth to hide hysterical laughter. A passing sixth year has given him an odd look.

He didn’t know why he’d found it so funny.

When he’d walked in again, he’d given a nod to the room and acted like nothing had happened.

That was one of the good memories of first year. The others mostly consisted of Lily and her aimless rambling. 

Peter walked along the cleared path and felt his entire body relax. The air entered his lungs and slowly exited. And just like that, everything became a little bit better. His entire life had been so confusing, every decision he made had a high chance of being a mistake, and it was like the world was dogging his footsteps and waiting to persecute him for every little decision. Every thought contradicted.

To just relax in an empty room was a luxury. 

Everything was... okay. It wasn’t bad, it wasn’t good, but it was okay. Everything was going alright, it could have been much worse. Someone could have seen his soulmark, someone could have sent him a curse in the hallway — but they hadn’t.

The worst things had happened at the start of the year, and they were hardly world-breaking. Another bad thing was Lily asking about his soulmark after a month of friendship, but she hadn’t pressed when he’d said his was dead, and that was a sign that she was awesome in his books.

Peter wasn’t even sure that that was a bad memory.

Lily’s mark was... the same as James’, to no surprise to him. He didn’t tell her he knew her match, because he wanted to have a year of peace without James pestering Lily — as the books foretold — and he knew they’d figure it out themselves eventually. When she had shown him, it was on her lower thigh and she’d spent the afternoon raving about how gross she found him. Hilarious, honestly. 

For his own sanity, he would delay thinking about Snape’s soulmate mark.

Personally Peter thought that Lily was too hopeful for a potential ‘prince-like’ partner. Some idyllic fantasy. It was a bit sad, and Peter would’ve commented on it, but he hadn’t. Verbally he’d said something more along the lines of, “He thought about that? Really? Wow.” 

In her defence, if it was him in her shoes he’d react the same way. What kind of eleven year old thought of boobs all the time? Probably a few, actually, he wasn’t an expert in human behaviour. 

Lily had all her eggs in one basket though. Just because your soulmate thought of boobs all the time didn’t mean that they were a bad person; being interested in certain body parts was natural. It could have also meant that someone was whispering the word “boobs” into their ear all the time, you never really knew.

Peter distantly wondered if James had boobs appear on his arm whenever Lily ranted about it. He did have them that one time a few months back, right? But that was brief.

The year so far had been calm. It was good. His roommates were relatively respectful of his personal space, and the height of intruding on it had been Peter catching them — twice! — putting hair dye in his shampoo bottles.

Sirius seemed to relax around him more, maybe he caught on to the fact that just because Peter wasn’t the grade A example for friendly didn’t mean he was waiting to set Sirius’ bed on fire while he was sleeping. Peter suspected he made his dog soulmark keep watch for him.

Not that it popped out of his skin, like that jellyfish he remembered from his childhood, but it sure did glare a lot when Peter was nearby.

He looked around and spun one last time. A big goofy grin spread across his face. 

Life was okay, and that was enough.

Chapter Text

Sometimes it felt like he could still see the sunflowers at the front of the house. They’d been uprooted and destroyed all those years ago. Would there be more, would they be bigger? He was pretty sure the house had come with the sunflowers. It was sad to think that their climactic conclusion had been his dad. Years of living, only to be brought down by an angry man in a single day. 

“You best not be doing any magic, got it?” Dad told him as they walked up to the door.

“I’m not allowed to,” Peter reminded him. “It’s against the law.”

Dad frowned. “I know that. But laws get broken, and I don’t want ya being sneaky. Just because you can do it doesn’t mean you’re fucking better than the rest of us normal people.”

“I know.”

“One day you’ll look just like that small fellow, I reckon. Creepy little bugger.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “That’s not how magic works.”

Dad didn’t grace him with a reply, and disappeared off to his room to fume about his living situation or whatever else he did in his free time. Peter went to the fridge and frowned at the state of the food. He’d have to pilfer something from the neighbours.

He missed Hogwarts already. 

Last Christmas James had given him stickers, which he’d crammed into his trunk. Peter stuck them on his walls and watched the tiny frogs jump around. Credit where it was due, they were fantastic. They lit up his boring little room. Peter relaxed on his bed and looked around in silence. The walls were mostly empty, but if he craned his neck he could see a childish drawing stuck to a lampshade. 

The room was quiet. It was nice. But somehow, he missed the hectic nature of the dorm room.

Remus wished his parents would stop looking at him like he’d bust out into a werewolf and annihilate the household. The only thing that kept him from telling them off most days was the fact that he knew they loved him, and they didn’t mean to do it. He could always tell them that their weird looks bothered him, but he just didn’t. He didn’t know why.

His time at Hogwarts was good. Fantastic, even. So to come home and immediately face his parents was... bad. Terrible. 

It was because his parents knew about him that they treated him so delicately. As long as his friends didn’t find out about him, the real him — then he’d be okay. Hogwarts was safe and secure only because his secret remained in tact.

He’d be okay. He had to be.

Sirius and James were a gift from whatever higher being existed. They encouraged him to let loose. They’d left the train waving to each other and promising to send owls and exchange letters, and Remus was excited for it, even if he knew that the majority of James’ letters would contain updates on Quidditch. Or his soulmate. 

“We got you something, hon.” Mum said nervously, and sent him a fleeting smile. Remus awkwardly smiled back.

It seemed that in his absence their dynamic had gotten even worse. He went up to his room, where he found a hand knitted scarf with a lion knitted into it. He yelled out his thanks and draped it around his neck, and finally let himself relax against the frame of his bed.

At least his bed was comfortable.

Peter broke up the roots of flowers, which he put in the plant pot and then covered up with more dirt.

He took up gardening as a hobby, but never could bring himself to buy sunflowers. His dad hated how he had chosen gardening, and brought it up from time to time to mock him, but as long as his dad never physically stopped him, Peter was going to continue. He enjoyed it. The silent repetition. He could control the appearance of the garden; it was his playground. 

He looked up and wiped sweat from his forehead. Out of the corner of his eye, a small purple hole seemed to grow into the air. He whipped his head around and stumbled back. The hole was wide and two-dimensional. 

What the fuck?

Crack.

Peter gasped and stumbled back, and the hole closed with another audible crack. Gone.

As if it was never there in the first place.

Well. Fuck, okay.

He didn’t do that. He knew that he didn’t do that. It’d appeared silently. A silent crackling circle that stayed in the midst of the air like a spotlight.

What the fuck was it? He spent the afternoon wondering about it, thinking of it as a portal or a black hole — it couldn’t possibly be a black hole, black holes caused a hell of a lot of destruction and that hole didn’t do more than crackle and shift — perhaps it was a magical prank. 

It could be accidental magic? But he wasn’t that upset.

Peter looked at where it’d appeared, and wandered around the spot, but couldn’t see anything amiss.

Maybe he was imagining things. Great, he was going crazy. Being reborn in a fictional universe couldn’t be enough, could it? The world had to rub it in and give him hallucinations! Accidental magic. That was it. It was the only easy solution; perhaps he hadn’t had any high emotions running, or he wasn’t that young, but like hell he knew all the laws of magic. Obviously, something had happened that he couldn’t explain. But it had to be accidental magic. He wiped more sweat from his brow.

Random magical floating disc in his backyard. The things that happened to him… mad, honestly.

Peter continued on with the day, and by the time he started making dinner, he’d forgotten all about it.

“Get out,” Dad said from the front seat.

Peter jumped up, startled. “Right. I said I’d meet my friends on the train so, uh — that’s cool.”

“Did I ask?”

“No,” Peter muttered, and opened the door. The car door shut. He went around to the back, “Just thought that maybe you’d care about it or something. Maybe you’d care that I had friends, you know. But I was wrong, good to know.” He laid it on thick and rolled his eyes. No doubt he’d look back on this small twist of rebellion and cringe, but at that point he was only angered. So the words just flooded out. Unfortunately, Peter wasn’t good at controlling his words when high on emotions. 

His dad rolled down his window.

“You really think you have friends there? Hah, they’ll find out about the real you soon enough.”

What the fuck was that meant to mean, ‘real you.’ What was this? A drama? Apparently, Peter had gotten his theatrics from his dad. Annoying to think he’d been passed anything at all from him. 

Instead of gracing him with a signature fake smile, Peter pulled his second hand trunk upright and sent his dad a last scathing glare. “This is why you can’t find a girlfriend,” he said. 

Peter booked it.

Peter collapsed next to Lily on the train.

“Long break?” She asked weakly.

Peter nodded and met her tired expression with his own. “Long break?” He countered instead of answering.

“Long break.” Lily confirmed.

Lily started to talk about how her sister had been insufferable, and just as it was getting heated, the door opened and Snape walked in. He made a beeline to Lily and sat down. They said hello, and Lily immediately continued her rant about Petunia. Snape nodded every now and then to keep her talking. Peter yawned and relaxed back.

The good thing about Lily and Snape is that they didn’t seem to mind when he didn’t put in any effort. Well, Lily gave him looks occasionally but she never said anything. Lily rarely spoke about what bothered her, but when she did, she didn’t hold back. Peter felt a bit bad about it, but he wasn’t in the mood to listen.

“And when I saw Sev, she was so... ugh! I love her, you know, but she’s so mean sometimes.”

“It’s because she’s a muggle, she doesn’t understand,” Snape said solemnly.

“But she so over the top! You should have seen her on the way here Sev, she didn’t even look at me. It was like someone died!”

“Maybe she’s too scared to admit she’ll miss you?” Peter suggested.

Both of them sent him a blank look. 

They turned back to face each other. 

Peter snorted and reached into his bag for puzzle rings he’d bought at a shop over the holidays. It was probably best to just say nothing at all. He was a third wheel to their relationship, even if Lily put in her best effort to include him. But he was sure that if he left one day without any forewarning, Snape wouldn’t say anything at all. 

He tugged a ring in one direction and felt it hit a curve. 

This year, he would do the bare minimum. He’d come to realise that he didn’t even need to graduate Hogwarts. He’d just get a career in the muggle world or something. Magic was too confusing, anyway, and it just wasn’t his thing. Put him in a boxing ring with a wizard and he’d beat the wizard’s ass with his fists. Peter found magic wands annoying.

Lily’s long winded rant continued for the next two hours.

Peter walked to the carriages with Lily.

Snape stalked slightly behind them, and Peter fidgeted with the puzzle rings, jostling them with reckless abandon while Lily watched in thinly veiled amusement. He really thought he’d have completed them by now. But nope, apparently not. Either the person who sold them gave him a trick-puzzle, or they just really liked hard challenges. Peter jostled the rings fiercely.

They chose a carriage and jumped in. 

“I’m so excited,” Lily gushed, talking about the new teacher. She’d given up her complaining a while back. “I didn’t really like the old one, you know, Professor Mylene was way too familiar, and I was pretty uncomfortable. But Professor Beaucannan! Did you know she’s released several books? I read one of them, but it was pretty complicated so I didn’t finish it. But what I did read was good, if boring.”

“If she was boring in her book, then what says she won’t be boring as a professor?” Snape drawled.

“Dumbledore would only choose good professors!”

“He chose Professor Mylene.”

The door opened sharply, and three boys jumped in just as it started moving. Peter looked up quickly, found himself looking at Sirius’ grinning face, and immediately turned back to the puzzle rings.

“Oh, hey guys. Sorry for this,” James apologised. “We were a bit behind so we got on the first one we saw.” He scooted onto one of the seats next to Lily. He could have sat next to Peter, but had apparently chosen not to, Peter couldn’t blame him. Peter still kept that rock from first year in his trunk. 

“We see that,” Snape snipped.

Sirius sat next to Snape and spread his legs to make himself comfortable. Remus sat next to Peter at a slight distance.

“No need to be so rude about it,” Sirius said to him. He stretched his legs a bit more so that they rested on Remus’ knees. Remus solemnly started to undo his shoelaces, much to Sirius’ annoyance, but Sirius didn’t put them back down. Peter jostled the puzzle rings. A little click sounded from one of them, and Peter’s eyes lit up. But when he moved the rings again, he still couldn’t find a way to seperate them.

“Yes, that’s us. The rude ones,” Lily loyally defended her friend. “Who’re you, anyway?”

“Your awesome local second year Gryffindors,” Sirius announced. “I’ve seen you guys around, I think. Hey Peter.”

Peter stared at him. He stopped fidgeting with the rings. He blinked twice, and then turned back to the rings. The sudden niceness was weird as hell, and he wasn’t for it. 

“As friendly as ever,” Sirius grinned mockingly. “I’m Sirius Black, at your service madam. Got a dog on my ass.”

Sometimes the tradition of immediately introducing oneself and then following it up with information on their soulmark became a bit crude — or maybe that was just Sirius. 

Snape froze and looked up. His mouth curled in disgust. Peter knew exactly why, but he wasn’t going to say anything. Lily didn’t seem to catch on. She scrunched up her nose in distaste. “Lily Evans. Pleasure.” The way she said pleasure made clear that it was definitely not a pleasure. Not saying anything about her soulmark was rude, but nobody pointed it out. It wasn’t a practice that was always followed, after all. Sirius did click his tongue though.

“James Potter, I’ve got a bubble on my arm,” James grinned. He was being completely genuine, and didn’t seem to sense the stale mood from the carriage. “Nice to meet you! This is Remus Lupin. He has a big ol’ flower.”

Those were incredibly simple explanations compared to their usual tangents, Peter noticed, but he didn’t say anything. Instead he looked out the window and pretended he wasn’t listening. No doubt they were being cautious because of him. He fidgeted casually with his rings while watching the scenery go by, but then found them catch on each other and instantly looked down to try and free them. But no luck.

Remus raised an eyebrow at James, as if saying that he ‘could introduce himself, thank you very much.’ “Why’d you say it like that?”

James grinned.

Sirius mouthed the word ‘boobs’ to him, and James immediately got off his high horse and flipped him the bird. Lily’s nose twitched in disgust.

“Severus Snape,” Snape spat out.

“Bless you,” Remus said.

“Did your parents hate you or something?” Sirius asked.

And lastly, James tilted his head and said slowly, “Huh? What’d you say? Snivellus?”

Snape’s jaw tightened.

If Peter had been in the Great Hall, he would have been shoving breadsticks in his bag by that point in preparation to dash off. Unfortunately, all he had was a tiny window. He could potentially jump out of it, but at what cost?

“Hey!” Lily hissed, “That’s no way to talk to someone!” 

James must have sensed the mood finally, because his face hardened. He looked down his nose at her and Snape, ignoring Peter completely. Good.

“As if we care about a Slytherin,” James snorted. “Don’t think we didn’t notice.”

Ah, maybe that was why he had been so vague when describing his soulmark earlier. Perhaps not about Peter at all. Maybe he wasn’t as genuinely friendly as he appeared after all. Peter, impressed, gave a particularly hard tug on one of his puzzle rings. Nothing budged. Peter was seconds away from cursing the damn things and throwing them at someone.

Sirius grinned and leaned across Snape and Lily, to punch Snape playfully on the shoulder. “Slimy, slimy Slytherin,” he said solemnly on the way back to his relaxed position. 

Snape, aghast, brushed off his shoulder as if a handful of dirt had been thrown. “You weren’t too far from being here yourself, Black.” He growled.

Snape’s smile fell slightly. “But I wasn’t, because I’m not going to end up as a death eater.”

Twist, twist.

“Heard your brother’s being sorted this year,” Snape shot at him.

“Oh yeah? Well guess what, he’s going to be a Gryffindor, just like me.”

“Bet your parents would love that!”

“Shut up.”

“He’s going to be a Slytherin. You’re always going to be the Black sheep.” 

Lily looked a little bit confused, but loyally kept up her glare at Sirius and James. She didn’t appear too bothered by Remus, so Peter assumed she must have talked to Remus before. Or maybe it was because Remus wasn’t participating in the argument? Smart move.

Sirius looked angrier. “Shut up!”

Peter exchanged a look with Lily. 

“Guys, stop.” Lily insisted. “It’s gone too far.”

“You know what your cousins said when you got sorted into Gryffindor? I know all about how your family is, Black, and no doubt they beat it into you when you went home for the Summer. What was it like, knowing you’d never measure up to the better blood?”

Better blood.

Better blood.

(And then something that would start a fabled rivalry occurred.)

James punched Snape in the face.

“Why don't you go fuck yourself, Snivellus?” James hissed as Snape fell harshly to lean on Lily. Snape cradled his face. Blood dripped down his lip.

“It’sh true, ishn’t it?” He spat out while groaning in pain.

Lily looked a little bit confused by Snape’s statement, but was more angry at James than anything. “How dare you!” She growled, “How dare you. I’m telling the professors as soon as we get to the castle! Who do you think you are?” 

Peter looked down at Snape and felt something in his mind click. Lily held him close, too hung up on the idea of a close childhood friend to realise exactly what he had just said. Exactly what he had just implied. Peter knew better. Peter wasn’t Lily, and he knew better. His hands were white around the rings in his lap.

“I think I’m someone who defends his friends! ‘Better blood.’ He’s a racist!”

Sirius looked gobsmacked, his mouth was slightly ajar and his eyes flickered back and forth between the angry faces in the carriage. His fists were clenched. His eyes stopped on Remus, as if imploring him to do something.

Meanwhile, Peter was slightly impressed that James managed to break Snapes nose. He doubted it was too hard, because Snape had a honker, but it was still bleeding everywhere like mad. He didn’t feel bad for Snape. He deserved it. Snape coughed, and blood sprayed out of his mouth and around the compartment in little droplets. Snape’s nose was quickly cupped in his hands.

Peter winced sympathetically. He grabbed his wand and was about to do a half-hearted attempt to fix it, when Remus’ wand did a healing charm before Peter could even open his mouth.

Lily sent Remus a quick look of thanks, and reached into her bag to get a small first aid kit. Peter wondered why she carried it around. It was blue with a big red button that helped fasten it.

He looked into the contents as she opened it and saw a CPR breathing mask. 

Why the hell? Forget everything in the carriage, what twelve-year-old carried around a CPR mask? 

Lily searched around the bag and drew out a few wipes.

“Thanks,” Snape coughed out. He took the wipes and cleaned himself off. His eyes glared at James and Sirius. 

“You always carry around a fully packed first aid kit?” Peter asked Lily with wide eyes. Lily shot him a look.

“I’m training to be a mediwitch, of course I do,” she whispered to him fiercely. Peter ditched the puzzle rings to the side, and subtly picked up the little bag. He dug through it. Bandaids, bandages, painkillers. There was just about everything. 

“You think you’re hot shit, don’t you Potter?” Snape hissed in the background while to the side, Peter looked through the small bag with awe. 

“Shut up, Snivellus.”

Lily had eighteen different types of bandaids. Some had small snitches, a few had snakes — Peter would bet a lot of money that she bought them after Snape got sorted into Slytherin — and a couple of other designs were scattered throughout the pack. 

Just as he turned over a bandage to see if there were any designs, he noticed blood on his hands. Ah.

Peter looked down at his uniform. Great, there was blood on it too. Must have been from Snape’s cough earlier. He was semi-impressed at the blood spray, it even managed to hit the wall behind him and Remus. He got out his wand and performed a few quick cleaning charms, and people sent him thankful looks. When he cleaned off James and Sirius, they looked more confused than anything.

Peter rolled his eyes and subtly turned their socks neon shades of orange and blue.

The carriage stopped, and Sirius jumped up as if his robes were on fire and gave one last glare at Snape and Lily. James flipped Snape off, and followed after. Lily scowled at him.

“Sorry,” Remus muttered on the way out. The three boys rushed off. The door closed behind Remus and Lily stood up.

“Well,” she said to them. “This years going to be interesting if nothing else. Bloody toerags. Now, where’s Professor McGonagall?”

Peter was just sad that he couldn’t finish his ring puzzle.

When Peter had first met Snape, he’d been guessing his soulmark to himself in his head. Was it a cross, a red spot that looked like a bloodstain, an image of Lily’s corpse, a ring or a deer?

It was a fucking black dog.

That had nearly put Peter into cardiac arrest.

“Can’t believe it,” Snape hissed the day after the carriage. They were all on a big blanket outside, enjoying the weather before it would inevitably got colder. “He’s my soulmate? Black?”

Peter really wanted popcorn. And a long detailed paragraph explaining everything, because seriously, what the fuck? He’d known their connection since first year when Snape had first introduced himself, but to this day he hadn’t the slightest clue as to why the universe had decided to pair up Snape and Sirius. He means really? Those two fuckers together? Them?

“Toerag,” Lily said. “What a horrible person. Can’t believe it either, you poor thing. But that does mean that he has to get nicer eventually, right? Soulmates are meant to be.”

Peter decided to intervene. “No they’re not,” he said.

Both turned to look at him, interested. He didn’t speak about soulmates. Peter complied. “Your soulmate is never guaranteed to be a good person. Sometimes you get left with the bad stuff, the remains of society. The dregs. Just because he’s yours doesn’t mean you have to have him.”

“You’re right.” Snape declared after he had stared at Peter in careful scrutiny for a solid minute. “I don’t want anything to do with him.”

“I’m sorry for your luck, Sev. I don’t know what I’d do if it turned out my soulmate was someone like Black or Potter.”

Ha.

“I won’t tell him,” Snape frowned at the castle. “I don’t want him to bother me about it.”

“It’s your decision,” Lily comforted him. “And hey, some people get together with people who aren’t their soulmate or soulmates. You deserve happiness as much as anyone else!”

“Now I have to see his brother all the time too,” he spat.

Peter shrugged. “Hey, it means you won the bet from the carriage.”

Lily sent him a look. “Shut up Peter.” Peter blinked in surprise. “It’s fine Sev, just avoid Regulus. It’s your right, and Slytherin is crowded anyway so I doubt he’ll even notice. Even if he does, he’s a first year, so you’ll be fine. And you can avoid Sirius too if you want. You don’t have to pursue him. Maybe one day he’ll mature and apologise!”

“Hm,” Snape agreed absent-mindedly.

Peter really had expected Snape’s soulmate to be Lily’s corpse. But for some reason, no. When he’d been told about Snape’s mark, Peter thought it’d take Sirius and Snape at least until sixth year to figure it out. This was a surprise. But there was one good outcome from the whole soulmark-situation. Snape wasn’t going after Lily. The soulmark thing really messed up the Harry Potter universe, and Peter was left watching everything crumble up while he carefully dodged the responsibility to pick up the pieces.

Everything was going ass over tits, and from the moment he’d gained self awareness — a mistake, surely — he’d known it would do so. Peter watched Lily comfort Snape in silence.

“Aren’t you saying anything, Peter?” Lily asked him with a very tired expression.

“He’s fine,” Peter said. “Look, you’ve got it sorted.”

“Peter.”

“What? He’s fine, he’s said so himself.”

Lily frowned and turned to face him.

“You know, in the carriage, something bothered me. You didn’t stand up for Snape or me at all, you didn’t do anything.”

“Neither did Remus,” Peter raised an eyebrow. “You had it sorted.” It wasn’t his problem to intervene in.

“Remus knew we were in the right!” Lily argued. “You actually helped them, you cleaned them, I thought you didn’t get along with them?”

“They’re still my roommates. I can’t just go against them. The day I stand up to them is the day my socks collectively go missing and get found rotting in the owlery. It’s self preservation.”

“Yeah?” Lily looked really angry, and Peter found himself leaning back. “Well your self preservation is really hurting us! You should have helped!”

They weren’t even talking about Snape’s soulmate situation anymore. Lily had apparently been bothered about Peter’s silence a lot more than he’d suspected — it hadn’t even occurred to Peter that it might possibly be seen as a problem.

“Oh?” He started to feel angry too. “Say I hexed them. I’d deal with their payback attacks for weeks, hell, years. Am I supposed to apologise for self preservation, huh? Good for you, really. Good for you that I’d have helped you. That would have been one shot in exchange for a thousand at me. I’m so, so sorry for that,” he said sarcastically. His eyes flickered to the castle and then back to her.

“I thought we were friends.” Lily’s voice broke. “Potter punched Sev for Black. Even if he did get told off for it by the professor later.”

“That’s because we’re in different houses and they don’t have to live with each other.”

“We were still in the right!”

Peter‘s face twisted. “Who’s to say we were in the right?” He proposed eventually. “Oh sure, Potter punched Severus, but Severus was saying some pretty bad things about blood and Black’s personal situation. They were right, you know, Severus did say a racist thing back there.”

Lily swallowed, looking a bit unsure. She powered on anyway. “You should never react with violence! We’re your friends.”

“You wanted me to hex them!”

Snape intervened, “They were the ones who were rude first.”

Peter didn’t get why he felt so horrible, it wasn’t like he should have expected Snape to stand up for him. But even so, bitter resentment clawed up his spine.

“‘Better blood.’” Peter said, “you were talking about better blood. Like what, we’re not as good as purebloods because we were born to muggles? I thought only bloodpurists referenced that kind of ideology.”

“Shut up, you know I didn’t mean it like that!”

Peter stood up and picked up the books he’d brought outside with him. “Then what did you mean? Oh, sure.” He muttered. “Nothing racist. Not at all. Not pure, noble Severus. He would never.”

“Don’t turn it on him,” Lily cried. “I’m upset that you didn’t defend us, that was the topic! You’re supposed to do anything for your friends. Do we not mean that much to you?”

“You guys don’t know anything.” Peter felt his head crying at him to stop talking.

(Stop talking, stop talking.)

“What, and you do?” Snape snipped.

“Compared to you, yes.” He looked down at them, and turned up his nose. “I don’t know why I ever befriended you. The both of you are just children.”

(He saw Lily’s face turn into a hurt expression, and Snape’s turn dark and untrusting.)

Another puzzle piece joined the rest, and a flimsy acknowledgement filled Peter’s face. He should never have befriended them. This was the price of listening to his stomach.

He ran off before they could decide to shoot a hex at him.

Racist. Stubborn. Stupid.

Children.

They were all children. It wasn’t like he was much older than them, he had died young after all, but they were children nonetheless. So what if he was ‘selfish’ and didn’t defend them? Oh no, he didn’t defend Snape after he spat out a racist phrase. 

They got through it, didn’t they? Limited injuries and all! And they were saying that he was a bad person for it?

That sort of thinking was what made them children. Why did he ever befriend them? He could get rid of them easily, sure, but… he hadn’t thought it through. In the end, he should have just remained alone. It was so much easier! It made so much more sense toast stick to himself!

Peter opened the dorm door harshly, and ignored the odd looks aimed towards him. He made a beeline to his pillow, where he face planted and dropped his books to bounce off the bed.

Fuck everything.

“Ah, something happen?” James asked awkwardly. It didn’t seem like he really wanted an answer, and was just asking to be polite.

Peter answered anyway because nothing mattered in life and he was going to die alone and his soulmate was dead and they would all die and honestly what was the point even? 

“Training for the face-planting preliminaries,” Peter answered, his voice muffled in the pillow. He got a startled laugh out of that. He then continued to talk, and that action was quickly aborted. “Now fuck off before I throw a rock at you or something.”

“Hey!”

Peter groaned and rolled over. A book fell off his bed, and he watched the top of his bed in silence for a few seconds before he rolled onto his feet. “Yeah, fuck this. Going to the kitchen to stuff myself and cry into lasagna. Peace.”

That prompted a lot of noise, and Peter looked up through foggy eyes to see two boys crowded around him. He stepped back hurriedly in discomfort. 

“The kitchen?” Sirius asked, his eyes wide.

“We’ve been looking for that forever!” James whispered.

“Tell us where it is!” Sirius begged.

Peter ignored them and picked up a bag near his bed and threw it over his shoulder. He emptied out the loose parchment inside and steadily filled it with things he’d need for his next couple of classes. Ink, textbooks, etcetera.

“Ain’t a chance in hell. I repeat; peace. See ya, don’t follow me. If you hear crying, it’s not me, it’s my niece, Greta Grettigrew.”

“He has a niece?” James asked Sirius in a whisper.

“No, stupid. He’s being a fuckwit.”

Surely enough, Peter found himself dry-faced in the kitchens an hour later surrounded by a plethora of house-elve, while he gave them a sob story he’d thought of on the spot about five minutes before he walked in.

Like hell he was actually going to cry. His dad would’ve torn him to shreds had he actually been caught doing so, and sure they were a long way away from each other, but Peter wasn’t risking shit. What kind of man did that make him if he was caught? Reputation was annoying as shit and he didn’t care about it, but there was some things you just didn’t do as a guy.

“Yeah, my boyfriend broke up with me,” he told one house-elf. “Said I was too annoying. So I’m eating my feelings, because that’s the healthy response to any relationship drama.”

Snape was a racist, Lily thought Peter was selfish and didn’t care about them — and it was kind of true — and his life was going to shit.

The house-elf gasped. “Misters Pettigrew should be taking better care of himself!”

“Logically, you’re right.”

Merlin, he hated himself. He took a big gulp of water.

“…So?”

“No, that’s it, that’s all I got,” Peter said. 

When things went to shit, he did the number one relaxing activity; fucking with people.

One of the house-elves whimpered.

He ate a spoonful of lasagna and stared at the table.

(“You really think you have friends there, Peter? Hah, they’ll find out about the real you soon enough.”)

Dad was right. Fuck dad.

Yeah, fuck his dad! Damn him to hell. He ate another spoonful and ignored the tittering of the house-elves around him.

Peter might’ve been normal if he had a normal dad, but nope! He’d ended up with that asshole, misogynistic, racist, elitist, other complicated but true words — piece of shit. He bet if the internet was a bigger thing his dad would be an internet troll, the sort that raged about politics on a twitter account.

Fuck dad. He ate another spoonful.

“Youse being okay, Misters Pettigrew?”

“Don’t worry, those aren’t tears. It’s sweat.”

“From the eyeballs, Misters?”

“People have always said I was a talented individual. Might have been sarcasm a few times, but it’s always rang true.” He rubbed his eyes. God bless. He sniffed.

Chapter Text

Remus tilted his head slightly under the invisibility cloak to watch Peter wipe a tear — definitely a tear, there was no way that was sweat — out of his eye. Beside him, James and Sirius watched him with odd expressions, a mix of emotions across their faces that Remus wouldn’t be able to decipher for the life of him.

As soon as Peter had left, all three had practically lunged for the invisibility cloak. Personally, Remus’d expected a lot of celebrating when they eventually found the kitchen.

This was just sad.

“Misters Pettigrew should like another glass of water?”

“Misters Pettigrew wants a pet frog, actually, but thank you.”

Remus was flabbergasted, mostly.

“We’s is not having any frogs.”

Peter solemnly shook his head. “The inhumanity. Man, if I had a mum, she’d beat your mum’s ass. Oh shoot no stop crying I’m joking no it’s okay — ah here, come here, you like hugs? I’ll give you a hug. Since when are house-elves this fragile? Your mum jokes have just gone sour. Right, sorry, I’ll stop talking. Here. Pat pat.” He patted the shoulders of the quivering house-elf now buried in his arms. He looked very confused.

Sirius’ hand pressed over his mouth to stop himself from snickering. James wacked the back of his head.

Remus never really thought much of Peter. He’d always seemed standoffish, rude and held himself in high esteem. When James had tried to befriend him, Remus hadn’t been on board because Peter was sort of an asshole. But sometimes Remus would look over and Peter’s face looked very old and very young at the same time, and he couldn’t help but feel bad for him. So, pity. Curiosity, too, were the main things he felt towards the guy.

Maybe it was out of some misplaced sense of guilt that he’d given him a water gun as a Christmas present in first year. When Peter had smiled down at it, Remus’d immediately felt validated and he’d smiled a bit too. 

Maybe that was what his mum had been searching for when she had given him that scarf last Summer. 

Even so, Remus hadn’t tried to convince James to stop trying to pursue him as a friend after that.

But then one day James stopped by himself, and Sirius explained why.

To put it simply, Remus was right. Peter was an asshole. A pitiful one, but an asshole nonetheless.

(And then he’d found chocolate beside his bed that James and Sirius had sworn up and down hadn’t come from them, and Remus got confused.)

Remus didn’t try to think about Peter much after that. He put his time into studying (mostly unnecessary as he knew all the content) and pulling pranks, and together the three of them ignored Peter completely, and Peter ignored them. Remus felt bad about it, especially when Peter had that look on his face, but he didn’t put that much effort into changing it. He’d spared his sympathy already.

He’d always thought Peter had a lot of pressure on himself, but he’d never seen the boy break down.

And well, there they were. Shut into a kitchen they couldn’t leave without the door making a large shutting noise behind them, watching Peter Pettigrew cry over lasagna while hugging an elf who was also crying. Remus didn’t know what his life had become.

When he’d befriended James and Sirius, he’d expected things to go a little bit south. But this — yeah, this was weird.

He lightly scratched the scar over his nose, and exchanged a look with James.

“What the fuck,” James mouthed at him.

“I don’t know,” he mouthed back.

Sirius was still trying not to laugh.

“Misters Pettigrew is mean, Ditzy thinks.”

“Yeah,” Peter mumbled.

“Youse isn’t very happy.”

“Speak for yourself Ditzy, you’re currently crying in my elbow.”

“Youse isn’t very funny either.”

Peter looked like he started to cry harder.

Sirius’s hand left his face, and Remus saw that his smile remained, but it wasn’t as joyful as he had thought when he first saw Sirius laughing. It looked bitter. Sirius swayed out of the way of a moving house-elf with a bitter expression. Obviously Remus had misinterpreted Sirius’ looks, as he did not look amused now at all.

Swoosh.

Sirius yanked down the cloak, and James’ hands grasped at air for a few seconds. Remus and James stared at him, betrayed.

Sirius looked down his nose and stuffed the cloak into his pocket. “Alright, that’s enough. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Peter shrieked and scooted back in his chair. Remus stared.

Peter’s face built up a multitude of walls, and he rubbed the tears from his eyes in one fell swoop and politely dropped the elf onto the floor. 

“You just came from...” Peter pointed at them, at the general area they were in, then at the door and back. “Ah.” Recognition dawned on him at the sight of the cloak.

“Why’re you acting like that?” Sirius pointed a finger at him.

“Why’re you stalking me?”

“Kitchens. Now what’re you fucking doing?”

“You’re twelve, you shouldn’t be swearing so fucking much.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Quit dodging my questions. Bastard.”

Peter’s face seemed to close off even more, and Remus didn’t think that was possible. Remus stood in and blocked Sirius, looking between them as a peacemaker. “I think we should leave him alone for the moment. He’s obviously had a... bad day. We’re sort of in the wrong.” Following the guy was something he signed up for, confronting him about aforementioned following, not so much.

Remus knew what bad days were like. They didn’t ever take him to the kitchen cradling an elf, but uh — that was alright, right? 

“Remus,” Sirius whined. “You always do this! I’m asking politely.”

“You’re not asking politely!” Remus stressed the words. 

“It’s polite enough.”

“Right.”

Peter ate a spoonful of lasagna as if they weren’t arguing in front of him. He’d stuck on his usual infuriating blasé resting-face. Remus massaged the crease between his eyebrows.

“Misters shouldn’t be arguing in the kitchen, oh noes.” Ditzy told them off.

“I’ve had a bad day?” Peter said to the house-elf shyly.

“Oh noes, we’s had enough today, yes we’s have. Come back another day. Bye byes, misters.”

They next thing they knew, all four were standing outside the kitchen.

Peter looked back, heartbroken, and ate another spoonful of lasagna. The house-elves hadn’t taken the plate from him. Remus stared, bewildered. Peter didn’t look bothered in the slightest. He really wasn’t normal. 

“My made-up boyfriend would have stood up for me,” Peter said to his lasagna as if that wasn’t bloody weird, “Always gotta stand up for those close to you. What a joke.” More serious now, he looked up. “Now, what the hell do you want? Thought we were fine ignoring each other. You going to apologise for stalking me?”

Sirius blinked. “You sound like a girl sometimes, you know.”

The atmosphere chilled.

(All of a sudden it felt like the metal shed at home. Enclosed, sharp. Rusty. And so, so small. Every moon it got smaller, it seemed like one day it would get so small that it wouldn’t be there any more. Maybe that would be the day he’d get free —)

Peter snapped.

“Oh yes, Peter, what a girl. What a pussy. Fuck you, fuck all of you. Quit bothering me.” He shoved the lasagna into James’ arms and stormed off. The sound of his footsteps brought about an anticlimactic end of the series of events. 

Remus licked his chapped licks nervously, and frowned at his retreating figure. 

“He got something against girls?” James tried to break the silence once Peter disappeared around the corner. He took the fork Peter was using and ate a bite of lasagna. Sirius reached over and used a free hand to scoop up a small portion. Remus silently surveyed them, unsure.

It was unsettling how they brushed it off.

How they brushed off the crying. The looks Peter gave them — angry, annoyed. Scared. Peter wasn’t one for crying. Hell, the guy barely showed emotions. He laughed, sure, he did show feelings occasionally — but only the bare minimum.

Remus didn’t see scared faces a lot. When he did, he saw them at home, from his mum and dad on the day of the moon. But other than that — nothing. Peter didn’t necessarily seem fine, but it was when Peter sent that last scared look — at being called a girl, of all things — that it nailed in the fact that Peter really wasn’t okay.

(When it nailed in that Remus never wanted someone to look at him like that again. He hated the fearful glance, and the hunched shoulders.)

And if he didn’t want people to look at him like that, then he needed to be more secretive over his problem. His friends sometimes acted like they were suspicious, mostly at the end of last year and in letters over the holidays, and it seemed to be getting worse. One day they might find out.

“He was in a bad mood,” Sirius hummed to himself.

Remus tried to find a bright side. “At least we found the kitchen?”

James grinned. “Hell yeah we did! Guys, you should try this, it’s pretty good.”

They didn’t talk about Peter for the rest of the day, and didn’t find him in the dorm when they got back. 

The next time they saw Peter again, it was when he stumbled in late at night with a blood-pop in his mouth. They didn’t say anything to him and he didn’t say anything to them.

Remus avoided looking at his face.

Peter was very embarrassed. 

He also wanted to jump out the window. To think he had a breakdown over two... childrengetting angry at him. He sucked his bloodpop and watched the frogs jump around in his curtains.

And then he was caught crying, and then he stormed off. He was also ninety percent sure he hugged an elf at some point.

That was it, he decided. He wouldn’t ever talk to anyone again, not because he was petty or anything, but because he was so tired of things going wrong. Nothing ever went wrong with friendships if you didn’t have any.

He hated to prove his dad right, but he decided on it regardless.

For the rest of the year, he didn’t speak a word to Lily and Snape unless it was in class or required. To the marauders he didn’t talk either, and they didn’t try to approach him in turn.

Everything was fine.

Absolutely fucking perfect.

He was so stupid to not have rejected Lily’s presence that day back in first year.

( —You really think you have friends —)

And the school year passed in a blink.

“Everyday you look more like your mother,” Dad said quietly one day. “You have her hair, and her eyes. Blue…”

Peter looked up from behind his long eyelashes. He was tired. Maybe his dad’d sensed that for once in his life and decided not to be a dick. 

“You just lack the hips and the tits.”

Or not. Peter flipped him the bird.

Peter felt bad for women. He also felt bad for himself. 

“Right,” Peter drew out. “See you at dinner.”

In his room, he pulled up his shirt and quietly surveyed the faded mark across his torso. 

Why did his soulmate have to die?

Well, it wasn’t like he wanted one, but still; he was reborn here and he didn’t get one? What did he mess up in his last life to warrant that?

(Maybe the universe had realised Peter didn’t want one, and had revoked the right. That was fine.)

It was better than getting someone bad. If he got someone like his dad, he didn’t know what he’d do. 

He hated everything. He wanted no part in any of it. Couldn’t he be reborn in a better world, where he wasn’t doomed to failure from the very beginning? He wanted somewhere to let loose.

A crack echoed around the room, and Peter spun around to look at the corner where it came from, but there was nothing there.

What the fuck?

Hadn’t that... happened before?

Had a disc appeared in the air again? Well. It was gone either way. He continued to stare into the corner and let his shirt drop and his hand slowly moved up to cradle his face.

Fuck this, honestly.

He’d always hated mystery. If everything wasn’t clear from the very beginning, the point was lost to him, it just wasn’t entertaining. Didn’t he deserve to know what he was getting into? 

He bet if someone else had come here in his place, they’d be taking the world by storm. Perhaps they’d be making big plans, and making friends, and going against fate or whatever, whatever. But he was him. And he wasn’t. And he didn’t want to. He didn’t sign up for this; he didn’t want whatever ‘this’ is! He just wanted to do nothing. Was that so bad? Was that so awful?

Peter walked through the shops with a bag around his shoulder and a slight pep to his step. He was finally allowed out alone to shop. He’d done it before, actually, but he’d always had to sneak out to do it. Usually he snuck out to pickpocket or to steal. He wasn’t a saint.

It was always odd to him that his dad was protective and didn’t let Peter out far alone. Maybe he thought himself an ‘alpha’ to completely control Peter’s movements — at least, that explanation made sense to Peter.

Anyway, Peter had way too much happiness for someone who just put lettuce into a bag. Dad had given him money, which was weird, but he wasn’t going to stress about it. 

He practically skipped along the aisles and chose whatever produce that was on sale, letting the terrible mall music run over him.

He missed the music from his old life. He’d never be able to recreate it, other than vocally, mostly because he didn’t have the patience or the talent. 

He could sing. Not very well, but he could. He could also play the guitar, but years of not touching one would inevitably reflect badly if he ever tried it again.

Thank god they had the Beatles, even if the audience was mostly girls. If he remembered correctly, The Beatles would be more popular with men in the future. But at the moment the band was known for being popular with the ladies.

Peter brushed some hair out of his eyes and considered cutting it. Nah. As long as it didn’t get as long as the original Pettigrew’s, he would be fine. Sometimes he wondered where all those... features, from the other Pettigrew had gone. 

While the original Pettigrew must’ve taken after his dad, he couldn’t see the resemblance, ‘Cos he took after his mum. His dad was nearly a mirror image of the book’s description of the original Pettigrew. He was large and greying, while Peter was small and dainty with large blue eyes and naturally curly hair.

(Maybe his dad’s soulmate was a different woman from the original Pettigrew’s mum? That made the most amount of sense.)

Thinking of the original Pettigrew and him was confusing. They kept being mixed up in his mind.

Rat, man. Which was which?

Peter put pasta into his basket.

He didn’t want to try to become an animagus because of that very question. What would it mean if he still turned into a rat? Would that mean he was the same man, doomed to the same fate, doomed to mirroring parallels that would inevitably result in him dying? 

He didn’t want to be a rat. Rats were disgusting, he hated them. Some were tolerable, ones that were small and well groomed, but all others were on thin ice and from what Peter could remember, the original Pettigrew had been one fat lump of a rat, disgusting and vile to the bone.

Peter didn’t want that. He wanted a small cottage next to shops that he could walk to, a home garden and a pet frog or two. A dog. Maybe a swing. Far away from anyone he knew.

He wanted his own life. Who cared if he shared the same life, the same parents as the original Pettigrew? He was different. He had to be.

(He looked different, didn’t he? Didn’t that mean things had changed? Didn’t that mean that he wouldn’t grow up to spend thirteen years as a rat? He was trying. He really was.)

“Hey, you! You’re a Gryffindor, aren’t you?”

Peter froze on his feet and slowly looked to his right, where he found a blonde boy around a year younger than him staring with a vacant smile and very twinkly blue eyes. His head was on a slight axis, and his body was exposed and relaxed as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

“Peter Pettigrew,” he introduced himself wearily. “You shouldn’t be talking about that in muggle public.” Even if the shop was mostly deserted.

The boy ignored that and seemed to smile wider. “Gilderoy Lockhart,” he chirruped. “Pleasure to meet you, pleasure indeed. I’m a Ravenclaw myself, have you heard of me? I’m sure you must have.”

“No.” Yes.

Wait, fuck. Yes, he had heard of him. Shit.

Shit, shit. 

He subconsciously looked around for exits.

“I live nearby, it’s nice to bump into a fellow wizard, isn’t it? Oh yes, I certainly seem to think so.”

“That’s... good.” Exit, exit, exit.

“Oh, where are my manners? My soulmark... soulmark, soulmark, oh there it is! Cheeky bugger.”

Peter watched in thinly veiled trepidation as Lockhart lifted his shirt to reveal a tiny lifelike image of himself looking up with a twinkling smile.

Well fuck him in the ass and call him Josephine. “What about you?”

Peter hoped his answer would scare Lockhart off.

“Don’t have one. Dead.”

“Oh that’s a shame,” He tittered. “Mm, that’s not good at all. Bad luck there I’m afraid. What brings you to the market on this fine sunny day?”

Peter slowly gestured to his basket. He had no idea what was happening. “Pasta? Lettuce…” This was bizarre.

“Oh pasta’s nice. I much prefer chocolate myself, but I have to remember to refrain sometimes! It’s bad for my complexion. My, if you yourself were to hold back on the chocolate, your skin might become as good as mine! I doubt it though.”

As someone who was entering puberty, of course Peter’s skin wasn’t the best. “Right. So, where are your parents?”

“They’re dead,” Lockhart said simply. “Dead as a doornail!”

Peter winced. “That sucks.” Lockhart was like a blonde Batman, then. A main character in the works. Harry Potter’s destined soulmate.

Wow, that was a thought.

“Indeed. I have my maid Pompsy to look after me, so all’s well. She sometimes loves to just stand back and admire me! I can’t blame her, myself. I’ve always been such a beauty.”

Maybe she stood back to ponder over her life choices and try not to cry about them.

Peter didn’t want to tell him off for being self-absorbed or anything, because by all means the world needed more confidence, but he still raised an eyebrow in interested bemusement. “You do have nice hair,” he mumbled.

“Thanks, I know I do.”

“Oh, look, someone’s calling me. Best be off.”

“I didn’t hear anyone?”

He tried another approach. “There’s an uh, there’s a zit on your nose?”

Lockhart squeaked and covered his nose, but by the time he looked back up, Peter was long gone.

Peter entered Hogwarts for his third year in a daze.

Peter was tired of feeling like the world was going to end. Everything was shitty, from the cactus on the windowsill he couldn’t keep alive (he’d nicked it from the common room on the first day back), to the socks he could never find, to the snoring from the three beds around him that wouldn’t stop, why wouldn’t they stop? But the worst thing by far was the classes.

Oh sure, he’d known a Hogwarts education would be hard but it was third year that it all seemed to tip over and bury him. Even not trying was trying. Doing the bare minimum hardly felt like the minimum at all!

There was no internet, the only entertainment came from flat disks people played full volume in the common room that made it impossible to study. Sometimes the music in the common room was good, and sometimes he could look out the window in the dorm and pretend he was in a movie, but then he’d get angry because there were no good movies he could remember clearly enough to picture himself in.

Good ones in colour, anyway. Well, there was stuff in colour, but not the kind of movies that Peter liked. He liked new stuff rather than the oldies. Watching Despicable Me over and over was practically Gospel for him before he died.

(But he had died and things had gone from Shitty to Really Shitty.)

Every day the classes piled up more homework. Every class, no stops or breaks. He'd chosen Care and Divination as his extra subjects. He had to search for books in the library, which were always checked out unless he put himself on the list for it in advance, and he had to find a good space in the library but the section where the third years sat was always crowded.

When it wasn’t crowded, something small always had to go wrong, like Lily was there or Snape was there or heaven forbid, both were there. Peter sometimes made eye-contact with them and it was always awkward, and he always stalked off with his ratty, ratty tail between his legs.

Also, hormones. Hormones were shit!

Time passed too quickly sometimes, and too slow other times. It always changed, like the beat of music in horror movies. It was when it went fast that he was like, ‘oh fuck. Oh fuck. Don’t walk in that door, Peter. No don’t do that. That’s a bad idea, Peter —’ But the music was fast, and the door was the door to his next class. 

(Then a bucket of paint would fall on his head, because believe it or not, he wasn’t well-liked and his ability to cast spells sucked. Prime bullying material. He was shit at everything now that he’d given up. Defensive spells? Nah, he needed to learn how to magically tie his shoelaces first.)

Time went by in a blink, and every step was like walking in thick mud. He couldn’t stop his mind from racing most days. He was overworked yet a slacker. Peter wondered what it’d be like if someone ever cast legilimency on him.

“Hmm, yes.” They would say, “looks like we’ve got existential doubt, too much sarcasm, a real big dumb brain and hey, look at that. Daddy issues.”

(He remembered once, a long, long time ago — another lifetime, he had gone to a doctor and they had said he was perfectly mentally and physically healthy. “What, you’re upset about that?” The doctor had laughed when they saw Peter-not-Peter’s face. And not-Peter had said ‘no,’ but he was.)

(He was upset, because if he wasn’t mentally-unhealthy, then what was he? An attention seeker? Did that mean he could get worse, that what he was feeling was something created by him in peak condition? What did that mean for him? He wanted to get better. He didn’t want to be told that that was better.)

(He was probably fine.)

Peter caught a glimpse of fire-engine red hair and made a sharp turn in a direction he knew didn’t lead to Defence. He ruffled his hair, met the eyes of a blonde boy a year younger than him, and made another quick turn back, ignoring the giggles of girls in the hallway. Pick his battles and all that.

Lockhart was annoying. Seemed to think they were friends. It wasn’t like Peter was better than him or anything, but if he wanted to deal with someone like Lockhart, he’d get a dog. He couldn’t get a dog though, because he had a frog and there was a one pet rule.

That’s right. He smiled softly to himself. He had a frog, he found it on the edge of the forbidden forest.

It wasn’t a notable trip, really. He’d been wandering around in the middle of the term when he’d spotted it, and he’d conjured a simple container to trap it in.

It’d settled down well in his dorm-room next to his bed.

James turned it pink sometimes, but that was fine. Jared was a great frog and under appreciated as a species, so it was good people were hanging around him. Even if Peter didn’t like his dorm-mates in the slightest.

Was it Jared, actually? Maybe it was Stephen. David? 

“Peter,” Lily snipped. 

No, that wasn’t it.

Lily walked slow, so he’d unconsciously caught up to her and passed in practically a heartbeat, but once she caught sight of him she sped at his pace as if that was how she was walking from the beginning. So they now walked side-by-side.

Peter was faintly amused, but most of all he was annoyed. “Evans.”

“Evans,” she growled, “oh, groovy. I’m wondering, do you call me that because you think I’m a child? Don’t think I can handle being called by my first name?”

“It was last year, let it go.” Peter walked faster.

“I want an apology!” She matched his pace.

Peter sniffed and looked down his nose at her. He wasn’t very tall, but he was at least taller than her. “Funny that, so do I.”

“You’re a petulant worm.”

“I’ll sic Potter on you.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Try me.”

He opened the door to Defence and closed it in her face. She walked in after him rubbing her nose and glaring at him as if trying to set him on fire. Lily sat down in a huff next to Snape, who turned around to roll his eyes before turning back to the front in the same breath.

Peter sat alone at the back.

Hell yeah, a cool kid. The coolest kid of the lot. He snorted. The only people who seemed to find him cool were teenage girls who’d never spoken to him and therefore hadn’t gotten a grasp of his fantastic personality. And even then they could just be making fun of him. Recently, over the past year they’d taken to laughing and pointing him out whenever he was nearby. It was weird.

“We’ll win the cup this year!” Potter cheered as he walked in, and spread out lazily across a seat in the back row. “Just you wait — that chaser from Ravenclaw? He’s as dead as my grandma! Love my grandma, by the way.”

“He’s probably as dead as my mum,” Sirius offered. “She’s alive, yeah, but it’s out of spite. I bet if she ever felt a lick of love aimed at anything other than towards my brother or the house-elf, she’d die from shock.”

“What a bitch,” James said solemnly.

“What a bitch.” Sirius clenched a fist and faked manly tears.

Remus wandered in, a small hole showing through his blazer. He practically dashed to sit next to Sirius, and looked at the teacher’s desk, which was still empty, before he sighed in relief. “Who’s the bitch?” He questioned them.

“Sirius’ mum.”

“Oh, her.” Remus acknowledged, “Yeah. What a bitch.”

Lily turned around in her seat and glared at them. “You’re all so horrible! I can’t believe you talk about people like that!”

Peter fidgeted with his uniform pants.

Sirius snorted violently, while James erupted into goo.

Oh, he must have found about about their shared mark. When had that happened, Peter wondered?

“That’s because you’ve never met her, little miss perfect.“ Sirius smirked, “I bet your life’s all sunshine and daisies. Maybe you should meet my dear old mother. Her shrivelled old heart would make you swoon! You’re so perfect you’d see the moon in her shrunken sockets.”

Lily huffed. “Perfect? You think my life is perfect?”

“Ain’t it, sunshine?”

Lily puffed up, ready to spit fire, when the Defence teacher dramatically walked in. Everyone’s eyes flew to her figure, and Peter stopped doodling leaves and started to pay attention. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sirius’ hand lazily move in a stretch to cover a doodle of a woman with abnormally large boobs in the corner of his parchment.

Lily, disgruntled, turned to face the front.

“Hello, hello, hello!” The lady bellowed, her large bosom moving in tandem with her words. She swayed in and stood at the front, her garish purple dress clung tightly to her skin. A feathered pink scarf draped around her neck.

“Hello my little ducklings! I am Madame Selene. I’m here to teach you about Defence Against the Dark Arts.” 

If Peter strained his ears, he swore he could hear crickets. 

“Hmm-hmm-hmm. Let’s see let’s see, does anyone know what a knife is?”

This year was going to be great. 

He could just tell. 

His head slumped down a bit, and a large knife flew at him and landed millimeters above his skull where it had just been. He froze.

“What the fuck?” Peter breathed. He looked up from under his eyelashes and yep, that was a knife handle sticking out of the wood at the back of the classroom, just above his head. He cautiously removed wood chips from his hair. 

That nearly fucking murdered him! He furiously glared at the teacher, who was standing with a cheerful smile, her hand outstretched. She dropped it gracefully to her side.

“Hmm-hmm-hmm. Mind your manners. Now let’s see, now that I have your attention, let me bring you to my first lesson; muggle weapons. Just because they’re not as fancy as your wandy-wands, doesn’t mean they can’t brutally kill you. Be a dear and pass that back to me, will you?”

Why the hell was Peter her practice dummy? He slowly leaned to the side and yanked on the handle, but it remained lodged in the wood firmly. He gave a sharper tug with two hands and it sprung out with a couple of splinters falling in its wake. Peter made to stand up and pass it back over, but the professor shook her head and gestured for him to sit down.

“Now now,” she smiled, her eyes squinting so much that only a sliver of her eyes were visible. “Be a dear and throw it back, won’t you?”

Lily gasped and eyed her, flabbergasted. “He can’t do that! You can’t do that — what if he hurts you? We can’t... that’s dangerous, Madam Selene.”

Her mouth curled. “Hmm-mm. That’s the point, that’s the point! Throw it back.”

Peter stared at her and looked at the knife.

“Oh? Why the hesitation?” Madam teased.

Sirius elbowed James. “Probably because the last time he held a knife he narrowly avoided a life sentence in Azkaban.”

“I nearly avoided a fucking what now?” Peter snarled at him. 

“I’m just kidding!” He held both hands up. Must’ve realised that Peter was still holding the knife.

Madam Selene raised a painted eyebrow, and Peter turned to face her and raised it. One, two, three. He threw it, and she caught it out of midair right before it nearly hit the center of her chest.

“My, my! Fantastic aim! Practically inhumane. Ah, do you have a history throwing knifes, by any chance?”

Why the fuck would he — “No.”

“Hmm-hmm. Well, it was good nonetheless. Now, class.” Her gaze turned to focus on every student’s face in turn. A few gulped. “Let’s see how good the rest of you are.” Long, dark and unnatural eyelashes batted.

“I’m telling Dumbledore,” Lily hissed to a female Gryffindor in their year at dinner. Peter ate a spoonful of pees and nursed a shallow cut on his hand. He didn’t know who gave Sirius Black shoddy aim, but fuck them. 

Madam Selene had evidently decided that throwing knives to each other in partners was a good idea.

(Maybe Sirius’ bad aim was on purpose, but he doubted it. Sirius had actually looked sorry for once in his life when he clipped him. The grimace’d looked genuine.)

They’d been aiming at targets above the other person’s head. Sirius had partnered with Peter, and Peter had been stuck doing his best with shielding charms. Which he wasn’t very good at.

On that note, why was Sirius a beater? His aim was awful. Maybe that was the point, when he got chosen.

Gryffindor wasn’t getting that cup, were they? Peter absently scratched at one of the freckles on his nose.

“You can’t!” Alice grinned, her eyes wide and delighted. “She’s the best we’ve ever had! Did you see the way she split that hair straight down the centre? They were both the same size, I saw it under the muggle glass thingy.”

“So did I but, Alice. This is Hogwarts. We learn magic, what she does is dangerous.”

“What she does, dear Evans,” Sirius winked as he slid beside her. Lily scrunched up her face and sidled back, “Is teach us Defence. It’s her job!”

“Oh if it isn’t Mr ‘my life is so hard.’”

“Don’t forget, ‘who’s mum is a massive bitch.’ Wouldn’t want to forget.”

“You’re insufferable.”

Peter ate another bite of peas. “Selene is probably gonna be dead by the end of the year anyway,” he muttered.

“Ah,” Sirius grinned wickedly, “Mr ‘positive,’ my man in arms! Come here buddy, give me a hug.”

Peter scowled at him. He missed the days Sirius glared at him in the hallways.

James wandered over with his arm around Remus’ shoulder, and slotted in next to Sirius. James’ eyes stayed steadily on Lily. “Hello, my flower.”

“Choke on it.”

“How cruel! Moony, don’t you think that’s cruel?”

Remus poured gravy over his potatoes and hummed in mock conviction.

“The world’s against me!”

Peter also missed the days he smoked pot under the staircases at his old school. He used to think that was rock bottom. 

Wait, fuck. Maybe there was pot in the room of requirement? He subtly rose to his feet, and cleaned off his plate with one last spoonful. The bag practically jumped around his shoulder.

“Where’re you going, Mr Positive?”

“Reading,” he lied, not meeting Sirius’ eyes. “You should try it sometimes.”

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw one of his curls turn a horrendous shade of orange. He didn’t point it out, instead took it as a small mercy, and chanted the word ‘pot’ in his head all the way to the seventh floor.

Perhaps he could be exploiting the room’s resources more, but he kept forgetting he could. But sometimes he remembered. Like at times like this. God bless.

Peter bumped shoulders with someone passing by.

His books jostled, and one fell onto the floor. He leaned down to pick it up, but a pale hand snatched it and passed it over before his fingers could touch it.

Snape looked down his hooked nose at Peter’s face. Peter swallowed.

“It’s been a while,” Snape sneered.

Peter laughed awkwardly and neatened up the books in his hands. He looked in a different direction. “Yeah, yeah I guess. I gotta go.”

“Still as self-absorbed as ever, I see.”

He blinked. “Sorry?”

“Lily’s right,” Snape said. “You know she is.”

That had been practically out of nowhere, so Peter stood back, aghast.

Any awkwardness vanished as if it had never been there. “You would think that. I was right in not defending you back then.”

Of course Snape would agree with Lily, Peter knew that, which was why he hadn’t bothered to try and reason with Snape. Snape was loyal to one person, and Peter wasn’t them. Also, racist. That was a good reason as to why Peter didn’t like him.

“I think you’d do best,” Snape drawled, “to remember that you’re not the only one with a hard life. Lily hasn’t been a child for a long time, and neither have I. I think the real ‘child’ is you.”

Wow, how well put. “You’re going there? Really. And is that so, huh? I’m the child. Fuck you. You don’t know shit.”

“Hm,” he hummed, “You can’t be as stupid as to believe that standing up for your friends isn’t worth your own misfortune.” He spoke slowly, and it was almost like he looked over every word before he spat it out.

Peter snorted and laughed loudly, and it echoed through the hallway. “You’re the one trying to tell me this? You?”

His face soured even further. “Because I’m a Slytherin?”

“No. Because you’re an asshole.”

“If I defended Lily, and you didn’t, then what does that make you?”

So that was what Snape was doing back then. He thought Snape was just being obnoxious.

What’d that make Peter? Not an idiot. Nonetheless, Peter felt a bit queasy. “I was protecting myself, if you were my friend, you’d understand.”

Snape smiled bitterly. “But that’s just it. We’re not friends.”

“You’re a racist,” Peter said. “Forgive me for not wanting to defend a racist back then.”

“Better a ‘racist’ then whatever you are. I was only speaking the truth.”

“So you honestly believe ‘better blood’ is a thing? Well that’s fantastic! One day that mentality’s going to backfire, and Lily will bear the brunt of it.”

“Lily is different from the others, I know that. She won’t.”

Peter snorted, “You’re really choosing exceptions, huh?”

Snape gritted his teeth. “I have known a fair few muggles. My father, for example. He beat it into me quite literally that my ‘freakishness’ was a mistake of nature. I have a reason for my statements, Pettigrew. I know quite well what muggles are like, so forgive me if I don’t want to be anything like them.”

“You’re not some sort of revolutionary. You’re narrow minded. Get help.”

“Better narrow minded than whatever you are.”

Snape swirled around and his cloak whipped around his feet. He walked away, as if he’d made a valid point, as if he thought that would change Peter’s thinking, and didn’t look back. Peter soured and soured and soured and hurt and soured more.

Snape didn’t know anything.

He didn’t.

A racist was all he was, so Peter didn’t want anything to do with him. The day he’d listen to a racist was the day he’d think Dumbledore smelled nice. 

Similar life? Fine. Fine. They weren’t the same though. Snape didn’t know what Peter did. Snape didn’t know what waited for him, he didn’t know that Peter used to have an entire fucking life before, that he left behind!

He knew nothing.

Nothing. He knew nothing about Peter, he knew nothing about self preservation and he knew nothing about what was to come. 

(Peter’d meant to leave everything behind. He knew that. But that wasn’t the point, that wasn’t the point—)

Couldn’t anyone see?

Couldn’t anyone fucking see?

Peter didn’t want this! He didn’t want his dad, or Hogwarts, or James or Sirius or Remus, or soulmates or a stupid fucking dorm room with stupid fucking people around him who didn’t care, and wouldn’t ever care.

But hey; maybe that wasn’t fair, because Peter didn’t care either! He didn’t. He — well, he did. A little bit. Too much.

And.

Ah!

Fuck, after a while everything became so confusing and repetitive and he wanted fucking off. He didn’t want to have friends, he didn’t want to have his fate, he didn’t want to be a fucking sacrificial lamb for people and fuck, he didn’t want anything.

(Couldn’t anyone see?)

Peter wanted nothing more in the world other than his own security.

Didn’t he deserve that?

Didn’t he?

If he didn’t want to defend Lily, then that was his right. If he didn’t want to help Snape, then that was his right, and he believed himself justified.

(He felt lonely. Even so, he didn’t want them back.)

Peter broke down in the hallway and cradled his legs close. His face felt hot and wet.

If he didn’t want to be sympathetic, or helpful, or kind or looking out for people then hell, he wouldn’t be. He didn’t owe that to anyone other than himself.

Chapter Text

“She must love me! I’m her soulmate,” James whined. His voice was partially muffled in his red pillow. “I think about her all the time! We were meant to be, it was written in the stars.”

It was another incredibly early morning, and Peter found himself holding his pillow tightly around his ears. He scrunched up his eyes and curled into a ball.

The amount of times people talked about soulmates was ridiculous. And tiring.

“Well you see James, Sirius is ‘written in the stars‘ and yet he’s still a dumbass,” Remus muttered.

People were so strung up on the idea of a happy ending that after a while, Peter just wished they would see how hard a ‘happy ending’ was to attain in the first place. Maybe then they’d shut up.

Before, the main topic of conversation around him — her — tended to be teenage boys. Now it was the same, except with soulmarks, so it was like ‘teenage boys and romance topics on steroids.’ Funnily enough, he’d found that boys talked about romance just as much as girls. Interesting, yes. But not necessarily something he wanted to deal with.

“Hey, hey now. I am a star. Be Sirius here,” Sirius shook his head in disapproval. “Our best friend is having some problems.” 

Remus groaned. Peter felt vaguely sympathetic.

(People didn’t see how hard an idealistic ending was to actually achieve. All they saw were soulmarks; they were right in front of their faces, after all.)

People could write sad poetry, they could tell their stories of heartbreak and unfulfilled matches but in the end, no one would listen. No one would think the idea of a bad ending applied to them, personally. No one listened, looked twice, or cared. And so Peter wallowed alone. No one understood him.

(He was probably wrong, he knew that. Surely he wasn’t the only one who knew. But who could blame him for believing that there wasn’t anyone else. With people being the way they were. They always talked about soulmates. Always!)

James continued on, unfaltering. “Sometimes when I look down I see a knife on my arm! It used to be flowers and rose petals and now it’s knives. Knives!”

If people believed that their partner was obliged, or fated, to love them, it meant they didn’t put in the effort. Effort was what made relationships. Destiny or not, without effort, relationships were nothing.

(But some would succeed in finding their soulmates without effort. Some. And it was those few people that others ‘saw’ to their dying day, those few people that the world strived to be like. That they hoped for. And then others would inevitably find themselves alone — like him, like Peter, and as their last breath escaped — only then would they realise that soulmates were not obligated to find them. Or love them. Or be with them. Marks were, in the end, only a mark. A concept. A myth.)

“Relax, it’s likely because of Defence.” Remus reasoned with him. “Lily is just thinking about that, and if she’s not, that’s fine. Just be nice to her, it’ll work out.”

James slowly repeated the word ‘fine.’

Peter replaced his pillow by blocking his ears with his fingers instead.

People saw what they chose to see.

Say there was a news article of a man who waited for his other half on the beach for many years. When he died, say he became a ghost and waited for the rest of eternity. 

People would think, ‘oh that’s so romantic.’ They’d think, ‘that would never happen to me,’ they’d think, ‘love transcends all, surely they’ll find each other as ghosts,’ they’d think and think and think but in the end, they wouldn’t think of the right things.

(They wouldn’t think that maybe, just maybe, that man would never find his happy ending. That maybe he should’ve given up.)

Peter had seen the reality of soulmates the moment his father had shown him his mark. He’d seen a ‘perfect pair,’ a ‘perfect reality,’ and decided he didn’t want it. People threw away their common sense for fantasy.

“I got her flowers last Thursday!”

“Those flowers exploded all over her.”

“So I messed up with the water, big deal.”

“I’m actually astounded when I reflect on that,” Remus hummed, “Don’t know how you managed that one.”

James ignored him.

Sirius laughed loudly, “‘big deal’ is that you’re still riding out those detentions, mate!”

James ignored him too.

Rising sunlight streamed in from the window, and Peter mumbled nonsense into the crook of his elbow. He was half asleep, and despite the fingers in his ears, could still make out talking from his roommates.

It already felt like it was going to be a long day.

A small croaking noise reminded him of Jared’s existence, and he lazily slumped up in his bed and rolled back the curtains. The noise in the room levelled down like water over a flame, but he steadily didn’t look in their direction; instead, he reached down for a jar of flies.

He tapped the top of the jar, and a half dead fly arrived on the top. He used his tweezers to drop it in the frog tank. Mylene-Jared-Patrick-Danny-whatever ate the bug, bored.

He really needed to find a name that would stick for him.

“Are those frogs on your curtains?”

Peter looked up at Sirius briefly and nodded. “Yeah.”

“Frogs.”

Peter picked up clothes to get changed into. It was the weekend, and he planned to make the most of it by sleeping by the lake and doing absolutely nothing. He was going to be lonely, and it was going to be effortless. It would be fantastic. 

(The idea of being ‘lonely’ had rooted itself deep within him. It was just Peter and his practically unnamed frog against the world.)

“Ha,” he heard Sirius whisper to Remus when Peter walked past on his way to the bathroom door. “He’s so cute, but he’s such a bloody asshole.” Peter froze. His eyebrow twitched.

Peter was thirteen and twenty-six and he’d never been cute a day in his life. He made sure to flip them all off on the way out. 

“Fucker.” He flipped around and turned his face so they didn’t see the faint pink that he was sure dusted his cheeks. “Fucker!” He repeated louder.

“See? Asshole.”

The nap was good. 

(On the way back to the castle he found a bathroom and scrutinised his own face.

Not cute at all.)

The fun part about the Hogwarts library wasn’t that there was a large variety of books in the library; no, the fun part was that most happenings in the library certainly for the most part weren’t legal. Which was saying something because it was in a school. Full of young children. Since Peter sat at the back of the library — far away from where people his age usually sat, specifically Lily, Snape and Lupin — he knew this very well.

(He wasn’t hiding from Sirius and James so much; they rarely if ever at all went to the library. Most of the time they just made Remus take the books they wanted back to the dorm.)

In the library students organised meetings, or gathered incredibly dark books, or just generally had a fun time doing things that they weren’t supposed to.

Like blood rituals.

Peter stayed well away from those.

He could’ve done the right thing and reported the students who did or discussed illegal things; maybe he could have tipped Hagrid off to who were constantly stealing his chickens, but unfortunately, Peter couldn’t have named a single student from Slytherin other than Snape or Regulus, even if one were to point a gun at his head. He also couldn’t have given less of a damn.

He also just didn’t want to get involved in whatever — uh, ‘that’ — was. 

So... No involvement.

Instead, although he sat near the back, he found places well away from the dark secluded corners whenever he could.

(He tried to not overhear anything in the first place.)

He tried to sit nearby other students, even if he did like to study alone. ‘Study,’ he said, as if he didn’t just draw most of the time. Although today, he actually was going to study. Which was spectacular and deserved its own mark in his history. He was only doing it because the teacher threw knives, though. He wasn’t risking too bad of a grade in that class.

It was one of the ‘bad study days’ unfortunately, which was evident in the way that the only seats at the back that were available were near the dark secluded corners. And people were in the corners, possibly discussing the things that Peter had previously thought of. Peter chose to sit near the slightly less dark corner, with a young female Ravenclaw. The young student was obviously unfamiliar with how the library worked, and so as a group of Slytherins inevitably chatted loudly in the corner about fake IDs, she anxiously tried to make eye-contact with Peter.

With all of the skills of a veteran, Peter avoided it and pretended he was either deaf or blind. Just like the good, amazing older role model he was.

Such was life at Hogwarts.

“Yeah, Knockturn alley,” someone Peter had seen once or twice whispered to his friend. “It’s called ‘Souregnad,’ it’s in the first left alleyway. Father mentions it occasionally, apparently it deals in very secretive business.” He stressed the word secretive, which Peter took to meaning ‘illegal.’

It was fantastic how students didn’t seem to realise that others could overhear them. Again, Peter wouldn’t act on anything he heard, because fuck that, but surely one day there’d be someone who would. 

Whatever. It wasn’t any of his business. What was his business was highlighting key paragraphs on muggle defensive strategies.

“So if I get one of those you’ll reckon he’ll let me join?”

Guy-he’d-seen-around-once-or-twice-before snorted. “Oh please, Rudolphus. He’s not stupid. He’ll already know everything about you. He knows everything about most purebloods, you see. As is his duty, as our lord.”

Peter highlighted another sentence. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the Ravenclaw fidgeting like she was prepared to bolt, her eyes flickered to the corner and back to Peter as if asking him to do something. She looked like a startled mouse.

He smiled to comfort her, and she relaxed a bit. He then turned back to his parchment, ready to ignore her, and noticed her become tense again. Damn. He was hoping that would make her settle down for longer.

He bet if he intervened with the Slytherins in the corner his life would immediately hit the fast track for him to be promoted to Dark Lord Lackey. Fuck that. Fuck everything, he just wanted to learn about the positives and negatives of knife tossing Merlin damnit.

Just as he was about to highlight some line about how apparently ‘using muggles for practice was inhumane and dark,’ a Hufflepuff girl who had to be about his age peeked around one of the bookshelves. 

The table full of Slytherins fell into silence. Oh sure, Peter thought darkly to himself. Don’t notice the quaking Ravenclaw, but go ahead and notice the quiet Hufflepuff in the corner.

The girl wandered over to a shelf near Peter, and occasionally peeked out at him. After a short minute she gave up pretending she was looking at the books and wandered right over. The Ravenclaw watched them from across the table, and Peter fought against the urge to throw his quill at her.

“Pettigrew, isn’t it?”

He awkwardly fidgeted with his quill in one hand, and tried to casually look up in a way that upheld the ‘cool, quiet kid in the library’ facade. The Hufflepuff was very pretty, with dark brown eyes and high-cheekbones. “That’d be me. What’s up?”

She looked to the side awkwardly and back. “My friend... Amanda, she wanted to know what your soulmark was.”

Out of the corner of Peter’s eye, he noticed the Slytherins exchange glances. One of them flicked their wand, and a soft buzzing filled the area in their direction.

Oh great fucking decision, guys. Couldn’t they have done that earlier?

Also. Why the fuck would the Hufflepuff want to know about his soulmark? He thought it was common knowledge that his soulmate was dead, it wasn’t like he put in any effort to hide it. It was literally the first thing he said to some people.

(The reactions were usually funny.)

The Hufflepuff stared down at her hands and fidgeted.

Smoothly, Peter highlighted another sentence on muggle defensive tactics. “My soulmate’s dead. Why?”

He wasn’t denied an interesting reaction. The girl paled dramatically, and her head jolted up to stare at him in equal surprise and horror. “Ah! I’m so sorry!”

The Ravenclaw nearby looked equally affronted. A few Slytherins in the corner glanced over.

“It’s fine. Why did you want to know?” 

She fidgeted and looked around. “Uh, Amanda... her soulmate is platonic, and she wants to get an um, a boyfriend because she wanted to see what it was like and uh — you’ll have to ask her about the other stuff, I think — so she was wondering about you but if you’re not interested after, well, that... that’s perfectly fine.”

“Oh, cool.” Peter tried to straighten his face to not appear like he wanted to run. Because he certainly felt like running. “That’s... nice, but yeah, I’m not interested. Sorry.”

He was a little flattered that he had been asked, but mostly he was just confused. Why ask Peter, when he was a loner? He wasn’t trying to be modest or anything, but he knew for a fact that he was totally average appearance wise. One of the best things going for him was his hair, but the rest was something you’d see on the street and not blink twice at.

(He therefore blamed her asking on the lack of options at Hogwarts.)

It was common for people with platonic soulmates to date people outside of them. It was why dating was still a thing, although it was heavily frowned upon by certain circles. To be with your soulmate was unavoidable, according to their culture, but also according to wizarding and muggle culture; platonic soulmates didn’t exist, and that had been proven wrong centuriesago. 

To put it simply, wizarding and muggle society didn’t believe in dating unless it was with the person’s soulmate or soulmates. If someone had a soulmate that was known by others to be their soulmate, yet they dated someone else, they usually didn’t get treated that well. 

After a lot of time, platonic soulmates dating others was steadily accepted, although, quoted from one of the Gryffindors at Peter’s table, the idea was still ‘on fucking thin ice.’

After all, If the world allowed you a perfect match, why pull against it? 

(His mum could have been a lot happier with someone else. In Peter’s mind, she had settled for someone less because the universe had told her to do so. She deserved better. That was why Peter knew the answer to that question. ‘Why pull against it?’ Because the universe wasn’t always looking out for you.)

Peter didn’t care if people dated someone who wasn’t destined to be with them. He wanted nothing to do with deciding things for others. If they wanted to date people, then they could. In the past, plenty of couples had ended up together that weren’t soulmates.

(His mum would have been better off without his dad.)

But even so.

Even if people found their soulmates and were destined to be happy, even if people found other matches that weren’t destined for them and found happiness.

Even through all of that —

Peter didn’t want a soulmate. Or a match. Or anyone. 

He never had, even before his soulmate died. 

(‘Never.’ That was a lie. The idea of a soulmate when he was younger seemed amazing, prophetic, unbiased and beautiful. It was only when he grew up that he faced reality.)

Which was why he turned the Hufflepuff down. 

(Also because she wasn’t ‘Amanda.’ Who asked for their friends, anyway?

Also.

Peter was like. Really old.

Sure, his maturity matched his age, and so did his thought processes at times, but most of the time he felt like he was surrounded by children. He was thirteen, and he really didn’t feel like that was a good age to start dating others, even if it worked for other people).

“That’s alright. I’m sorry for asking, I didn’t know...”

He replied with a strained smile, and the Hufflepuff practically ran away.

He didn’t want to try and find a soulmate. Now or ever. He didn’t want to admit to himself that he was just as hopeful and whimsical and dumb — dumb! — as the rest of the world. He knew better. He knew better! 

So he wouldn’t try. 

In hindsight, he was probably asked because he had never shown a sign of wanting his soulmate in public, because it was usually a fairly normal topic of conversation. Popular people like Sirius and James talked about their mark frequently. 

Sirius and James were enamoured with the idea of a perfect match; James had actually found his, and hadn’t stopped talking about it since the moment he had.

Sirius just told people that if he didn’t find his soulmate, his mother would probably pair him with a cousin.

(Yeah. Sirius was trying really hard to find his soulmate.)

But even if he didn’t, Sirius probably wouldn’t listen to his mother anyway.

It was common knowledge in third year that Snape really wanted to be with Lily — it was obvious with how he looked at her and acted; but due to the issues with out-of-soulmate-dating, Lily didn’t want to do the same. Or maybe she just didn’t want to date Snape because Snape was Snape. Peter didn’t know everything. Or blame her, if that was the case.

It was a mess all around in that area of the school, and Peter made sure to keep a firm distance.

(Peter was just surprised the Hufflepuff hadn’t asked Remus. Maybe she had and Peter was the second choice. Remus didn’t talk about his soulmate at all either, other than basic information like ‘flower’ and ‘stomach.’ Ironically, Remus had something similar to him. Sirius and James had seen it at least, Peter knew that much from a few snippets. Remus was very private about it, so Peter had been respectful and ignored them whenever they brought it up.)

Once, Remus had said he didn’t like showing people because he didn’t like people seeing his stomach. Peter guessed it was because of werewolf scars or something. The dorm had shrugged it off as Remus being a bit self conscious, and they left the topic alone.

Honestly, Remus’ soulmate kind of reminded Peter of his own. In a different reality, Peter would have been more curious, or maybe even have asked to see Remus’ mark. But in the end, Peter’s was dead, so it didn’t matter.

He sensed someone looking at him. Peter raised an eyebrow at the Ravenclaw at the end of the table and shoved his books into an over-the-shoulder bag. She turned pink and buried her nose into a big tome.

People were confusing. He rubbed his ears to get rid of the irritable buzzing from the direction of the Slytherins, and finally exited the library.

“Can’t you just talk to him?”

Peter raised an eyebrow at the small Gryffindor at the common room entrance. Her hands were firmly on her hips. He didn’t know her personally, but he had seen her around. She was just another background character, no doubt insignificant yet desperate to meddle in his affairs.

“Why don’t you?” Peter muttered.

“Because he’s not come here to talk to me!”

“Well how about that... He didn’t call me for me, either.”

The girl scrunched up her face, unimpressed. “He did. He called your name. Your full name.”

As if to punctuate that remark, Lockhart yelled for a ‘Peter Pettigrew’ for the third time that evening. 

“Ah, no.” Peter said, “I’m Greta Grettigrew. I’m new. Now, if you’ll excuse me...” He wanted to go back to the dorm and have a nap or something.

The girl opened the portrait hole. Bitch!

Peter was shoved outside in a secondary motion, and the portrait shut firmly behind him.

“Fuck you!” He yelled through the portrait. The fat lady pursed her lips in cold disappointment. Awkwardly he stood back and turned around to face his unruly visitor.  

Peter crossed his arms and glared at Lockhart with clenched teeth and twitchy fingers. “Hey... what’s up?”

“I’m so glad this is the right room! I mean, of course I knew that, but maybe it swapped around. The castle does that sometimes, you see.” Peter decided not question Lockhart on how he had found the Gryffindor common room in the first place. It didn’t really matter.

“Great, great. So why did you want to see me?”

“We haven’t talked since the market!”

Lad must not have a lot of friends.

“Cool,” Peter drew out. “Hey, Lockhart, I’ve had a long week. In fact, I’m on my way to the library, so I have to be off.” A stone cold lie. He had initially planned to just sleep. Maybe if he woke up early enough the next day, he could find the missing card of James’ exploding snap deck and glue it to the ceiling above his bed. Just to taunt him.

(He was bored).

“I can come too!”

Peter started walking down the empty hallway, and Lockhart scrambled to keep up. He skipped daintily beside Peter.

“Don't,” Peter said. He was nothing if not blunt — it was rude to say things outright, he knew that, but he also knew that not saying anything was often worse. If he was Lockhart, he’d want the truth. So Peter was really doing him a favour. “In fact, I can and will literally curse you so that you can’t come with me.” No one said he had to be nice about it. “As I said, I’ve had a long week and if I have to hear your voice anymore than this I will literally commit homicide.” 

Lockhart stared, stupefied. “That’s... murder, right?”

“Yeah.” Peter awkwardly looked away and quickly changed what he was about to say. He was sure that the portraits would tell Dumbledore if he was too straight forward in threatening a fellow student’s life. “But uh — might not be you…” he coughed. “I’m just saying, we have more house-elves than we really need, so I’d be doing a favour for everyone by killing a few off. Less mouths to feed. In fact, why don’t you just congratulate me on my fantastic idea and be off? Go annoy other strangers you met once in a shop, or do whatever it is you do.” He knew that the portraits wouldn’t say anything about threatening house-elves, because face it, no one at Hogwarts really cared about house-elves.

An odd look overtook Lockhart’s face. “You’d be... thanked, for that?”

“Oh for sure, I’d definitely be thanked for killing Hogwart’s cooking staff and oh look you’re pointing a wand at me.” Peter was so done with the week, and it wasn’t even Wednesday.

Lockhart seemed surprised at the motion too, but didn’t lower it. Instead he pointed it a bit higher until it was directly pointed at his head. “You’re —“

“Kidding!” Peter edged away.

He thought the mind erasing tendencies came in at a later date, but alright.

Lockhart seemed to catch himself and laughed awkwardly. Peter laughed awkwardly back. “Okay, but seriously,” Peter steadily avoided eye contact, “I need alone time. Nice of you to come say hi but I’ve got to go.”

Lockhart, sensing the mood, practically ran away. Peter watched him go with his wand held nervously aloft. For his own sanity Peter was going to say that Lockhart pointed his wand at him in order to protect the sentient little beings that made them chicken wings, and not to obliviate him senseless and actually kill them, for potential glory.

Peter slowly closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. Everything was fine. Yep, everything was okay. He wasn’t threatened by a fictional character over a joke — although an admittedly terrible one, nope, not at all. Peter didn’t get threatened — he was greeted, nicely, and then Lockhart walked away. Everything was turning up a-ok.

Yeah fuck that he was going to go and eat more lasagna in the kitchens. What with Lockhart and that Hufflepuff encounter in the library and overhearing about fake IDs, he was done. Really just done.

“Misters Pettigrew is happy, yes?” Ditzy asked him, as loyal as ever. As soon as she saw that he had entered she made a beeline to him and took up all of his attention. Maybe it was to get him to stop annoying the other houses-elves, and she was just taking one for the team, but he liked to think that she liked him after their heart to heart back in second year.

“Absolutely fantastic,” he muttered into the table.

“Please forgives Ditzy, but she doesn’t think so.”

“Alright, I’ll guess I’ll tell you my life story.”

“Uhm. Please... do not.”

That was harsh. Well fine, it wasn’t like he needed to vent anyway. And no one could accuse him of never offering information. 

Peter stared her in the eyes and started to talk regardless. 

“My dad remarried when I was young, and so I gained a new mother and two stepsisters. They never really liked me, which was shit because my dad died like a week after, and you’ll never guess what pig-bitch took me in.”

Peter had many journals under his bed. Locked away with his mother’s name as a password, he wrote about things that he remembered about who he once was. What he longed for. What he didn’t want to forget.

It was for him, that was why he wrote it down. Documented it.

But it was also for someone to discover when he was long dead.

It was something for them to potentially marvel over; something for them to write down and learn from. It was a secret, and it would remain a secret — there were way too many protective charms added on for it to be otherwise. It was something to state to the world that ‘he was here.’ The charms would inevitably disappear when he died, because he was no powerful wizard, but until then…

(It could be argued that keeping that knowledge in a single place was dangerous and naive.

But he wasn’t naive. The information was completely safe. Dangerous to have down? No. He just wrote about who he was, not anything about knowing — anything else. Just who he once was. He wouldn’t necessarily tell anyone about that information voluntarily, but if people were to find out about it, it wouldn’t do him much harm.

There were networks of charms layered over it. Layers and layers and layers. Most likely the information would never see the light of day.)

The journals were just about Her, with the little house with the big back yard and the small family and the dreams that remained unfulfilled.

Without his past, who was he?

Peter didn’t want to forget. That was all.

Peter walked to the kitchen and suddenly remembered Her trying her best to recreate random facial expressions that showed up on the television. Her mum would laugh, so she’d laugh too and try to recreate more and more.

He’d write it down. He was scared for a possible future, where he wouldn’t remember Her at all.

“My Lily-flower, please accept this heartfelt song written by yours truly.”

“James I swear if you don’t sit down now...”

James stepped onto the chair and subsequently onto the table, where he gestured at Sirius to start playing his guitar. The salad knocked over as he moved and Peter mourned it silently.

Sirius began to strum. It didn’t sound good at all, and Peter wondered if he’d ever played a guitar before that point. Where’d he even get the guitar from? He didn’t remember seeing it around the dorm. Sirius was either very subtle about having it, or he’d borrowed it off someone. So he’d probably borrowed it, because ‘subtle’ wasn’t in Sirius’ vocabulary. 

“Lily, Lily, you make me silly.”

Peter gagged. Lily winced. Someone out of the corner of his eye started crying. He paused mid-bite and looked over to her, eyebrows raised. It wasn’t that bad.

Instead of analysing it, Peter decided he didn’t care, and busied himself with his fork.

“I want to — Professor I’m sorry just, ow! That’s my ear, hey, Professor I — alright, coming, I’m coming! Sorry Lily, maybe another, ouch.” McGonagall pulled James away by the ear, so he jumped onto the seat and onto the floor. He got pulled out into the distance. Peter internally bid him goodbye, thoroughly amused.

Oh, wait.

Merlin, he didn’t finish the song. That meant Peter’d  be pondering over the rest of the lyrics for at least the next few days.

Peter sighed to himself while the group of people around him watched after James and McGonagall in amusement as well as a variety of other expressions. Sirius cackled madly. 

Sirius jumped up behind Peter and ran off to James. Lily glared at their retreating figures, carrot on her fork and murder in her eyes.

‘I want to let you have my coat so you wouldn’t be chilly?’ That seemed probable. It was just awful enough that James could have possibly come up with it.

The girl who was crying rose to her feet, and Peter absently recognised her as Alice. At her friends’ questioning, she shoved a letter in their faces and ran off out of the great hall. The sharp movement of the letter pushed the gravy onto the plate of assorted cheeses, and suddenly, Peter felt like crying himself. He stared at the gravy mournfully. He closed his eyes and said a quick prayer.

Alright, so maybe Peter was still a little bored.

“Oh, Alice...” Lily trailed off, and he steadfastly ignored her as he’d been doing for years. He was very good at it. Like a chain reaction, his brain suddenly did it’s absolute best to busy itself with anything but Lily and whatever was going on with her. 

“What is it?” Remus asked.

Lily’s eyes were blown wide, her posture drawn in. “Her mum’s been... killed. Death eaters came to her house, and… Oh, Alice.” She hiccuped slightly. “Poor Alice. I don’t know what — I don’t... I’m going to go comfort her.” 

The disrespect people aimed at the food was astounding. Sure, Peter wasn’t the best example of a good citizen, but he at least didn’t knock over glasses and plates and gravy and just left them there. He was respectful to the house-elves who made their food, cleaned their rooms — actually, they seemed to have given up on the marauder’s and Peter’s room but that wasn’t the point — they deserved respect.

Lily rushed off, the previous anger and embarrassment over James’ performance forgotten. Peter nearly had an aneurism when he noticed that in her rush to follow whoever, she’d knocked over the butter. Well fuck, the world was just few throws away from a food fight, wasn’t it. Peter awkwardly leaned over the table to straighten up the butter dish. He used the knife to push it back on.

He couldn’t do anything for the gravy, unfortunately.

Peter frowned.

He couldn’t reach the salad.

And really. People ran out of the Great Hall a lot, didn’t they? It happened all too frequently, to such an extent that the hall was constantly moving. With students sitting on the floor to spread out and study, or even just standing around or moving aimlessly, the hall was always a mess.

And then there was James, who decided to try and serenade people — what were the rest of the lyrics? Seriously, that was going to bother Peter all day — and Sirius, who never shut up. Then there was a Ravenclaw nearby that laughed incredibly loudly — he rarely stopped, and sure, one could say that that was good in these times; joy was hard to come by; but Peter just thought it was annoying.

(Hogwarts was always busy busy busy.)

Although the layout of the castle was still a mystery, he could recognise some students because of how much they saw each other around in the great hall and the castle. Peter didn’t necessarily talk to them, but sometimes he’d pass them in the hallways and he’d be able to pin where he remembered them from. Like, ‘oh that’s that Hufflepuff who ate that entire pumpkin last Halloween on a dare.’ Even if people didn’t have names associated with them, they had their faces, their demeanour, their voices memorised in his head.

Peter wondered if people remembered him from anything; and if so, what for?

(Maybe he was an anomaly in recognising people who he saw in the hall. But then again, there weren’t a lot of students because of the war, so it wasn’t like it was hard to remember the faces of people. Even knowing this however, he didn’t believe people would remember him. Peter was a nobody, and that was how he liked it.)

“That’s terrible,” Remus frowned. He stared at his scarred hands. “I hope she’ll be alright. I never met her mum but Alice spoke highly of her.”

Would they remember Peter as the quiet Gryffindor? As the one who would, without fail, always reach for the lasagna first if it was available? The one people moved away from in their seats, the one girls and boys occasionally stared at — as if he was a pretty, curious rock — the one who was... kind of blond? 

(Well, if people stared at him, maybe he wasn’t a nobody. That wasn’t comforting.)

Well. He didn’t know what people thought of him as a whole; maybe a few people, like the marauders and Lily and Snape, who didn’t seem to like him, but other than that he drew a blank. And that was alright, because people’s opinions didn’t matter that much anyway.

He noticed out of the corner of his eye that Remus was neatly putting the salad back into the bowl with a pair of tongs, and so Peter snapped to attention. Remus looked at him curiously, and Peter’s mind went incredibly fast for a few seconds. Fuck, what were they talking about? Alices mum? The look seemed as if Remus was expecting Peter to say something. Ha, fuck.

Out of it, mind busy, Peter replied. “Get her mum a get well soon card.” They were saying something about Alice’s mum being unwell?

Remus jolted and moved to stare at him. “Pardon?”

“Uh. Get well soon card.”

“That’s not funny.” What? Was that a frowned upon custom in wizarding society?

“I thought people liked those?”

Remus suddenly rose to his feet and stepped away from the table. He gave Peter a withering glare. “You know what? I’ve never thought you were that bad, no matter what people said. But they’re right. You really are an asshole.”

He hauled up his book-bag and left.

Uh. What the fuck?

Peter looked after his retreating figure, bewildered.

Well, there’d obviously been a misunderstanding.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t the type to care enough to correct it.

Half of him was wondering why Remus had rushed off like that, and the other half was debating what the rest of the lyrics to James’ song were. He turned once more to the fallen gravy and sighed.

So...

The misunderstanding must have been bigger than he’d initially thought.

He couldn’t remember what it was, as he usually forgot about the things that came out of his mouth as soon as they came out, but apparently his roommates were all in agreement that whatever it was he said was terrible, and so had taken it upon themselves to subtly make his life hell.

‘Subtly’ was the key word. He didn’t think Sirius was capable of it before. They didn’t curse him outright, or call him names or do anything other than their usual behaviour. But some things didn’t add up; like the fact that his shoes kept being found outside the dorm room, or how there was one day a live snake in his bed — or how he woke up and somehow found all of his pillow covers inside out and dyed a terrible shade of maroon that didn’t come out.

It was annoying. And Peter liked to think that he was upfront. He already sat alone. He already cowered. He didn’t have anything to lose.

So, still utterly and irrevocably confused, he stood up for himself.

Peter replaced Sirius’ bath salts with solid sugar and shook his head in silent disappointment. 

Fuckers. Whatever he said couldn’t have been that bad, it wasn’t like he was ever nice to them in the first place. They’d never liked him, but they’d been respectful enough of the privacy and comfort of the dorm enough to leave him alone.

He didn’t remember what he said exactly that day, so he couldn’t apologise for it. It must’ve been the tipping point for them however, because it was soon that rarely a day passed that things didn’t go wrong for him.

So, in self defence, Peter had started to pay them back for the pranks in equal, subtly annoying shit. The toilet paper role was the wrong way. The order of the socks in the cupboard near their beds was suddenly incorrect, the small picture frames of treasured family members were put face down.

Alright.

So Peter was the first to admit that maybe the picture frame thing was a bit too far. Theycertainly had seen it as horrendous, because everything increased two-fold by that point.

Did Peter himself see what he did with the frames as a horrible notion? Well, yes, but the moment before that Peter had discovered green goo across his trunk, so when his eyes had seen the frames and the idea had come to his head; well, it was free game.

In response, they hid pulsing slime in his frog tank, which Peter had panicked about until he figured out it was non toxic. So Peter put the slime into their pillowcases, which Peter woke to find draped over his bed and oozing onto his maroon pillow case. In thorough disgust and annoyance, he disconnected all of their lamps from the power sources through terribly placed cutting charms.

He then blew the lamps up, until they were all black and molten. Then he hid them in the ceiling.

To counter that, they hid the cover of his lamp. Peter found it weeks later under the common room couch when some curious second year looked under it to see if she could find any coins. It was shrunken in a shallow bowl of cream cheese. Which had obviously gone bad.

Peter charmed their pillows to whisper different recipe variations for Niffler Chocolate Balls. It was worth noting that there was a surprising amount of those recipes; wizards really liked their chocolate balls apparently.

(It was hilarious to be half asleep at 2am, and to turn over and hear a distant whisper saying something along the lines of ‘add the melted chocolate and stir thoroughly,’ followed by a loud shout.)

In turn they charmed his bed to make large honking toots whenever Peter sat down on it. He hadn’t been the one to remove that one, because he’d known it annoyed them more than him. Indeed, a week after it was first placed, they got so annoyed of his tossing and turning and tooting, that they removed it themselves.

He hid their trunks in the ceiling along with the burned and disfigured lamps. Although, he eventually felt bad about it and returned the trunks. A week later. It wasn’t as though it’d been that bad, seeing as most of their clothes and supplies were on the floor in their massive junk piles anyway.

One of them charmed his pants to change colour every ten minutes. Peter hadn’t minded that prank either, but McGonagall still gave him detention. During that detention they took the opportunity to stick a realistic image of a Hinkypunk to the place just above his pillows. That morning had been a surprise. He had stretched and looked up only to nearly promptly lose it.

So Peter moved all of the furniture one inch to the right and set back and watched all three walk into corners and edges. Sirius actually shed a tear from that one after he stubbed his toe. They all looked at him, but couldn’t actually work out what he did. Peter thought himself brilliant until he himself walked into a bed frame.

It went back and forth. Weeks passed, and all they did was prank each other until slowly things became less ‘slightly worse than subtle, discounting a few horrendous incidents’ and more ‘frenzied wild dog.’

Peter... was having fun. Even if he was still very confused.

He shouldn’t have been having fun. Usually his head was more in the clouds when he entered the dorm rather than anything else.

Events tended to pass through his life with little fanfare unless he thought it interesting. 

It came to a point where’d he’d watch his shirts magically expand into a dress halfway through a class, or see his red curtains turn neon yellow out of the blue and he’d smile a little bit.

He was going mad.

(He was having fun anyway.)

A girl blushed as Peter passed, and he felt the familiar wave of confusion and discomfort.

He ducked around a hallway and waited a few seconds. No one followed after him, but he checked around a second time. He then walked past a wall a few times and rushed into the newly formed door.

The room inside was comfortable and small, with a single chair and a small fireplace. He immediately collapsed into the chair where he then ran his fingers through his hair.

He took a shallow breath and sat down more comfortably. In the room of requirement, he could be relaxed and not constantly awaiting the next prank. It was a refuge, one he took advantage of every month or so, but more frequently as of late. His go-to was usually the library, due to the bookish relaxing ambience it had most of the time, but the ROR was a close second. 

(Peter had seen the marauders in the library and taken a strict U-turn earlier that day.)

Just as he leaned back with a thick book, a small crack sounded over the fireplace and he jolted back in shock. The portal circle thing again! It swirled for one second, two seconds, three seconds, then it closed with an even louder crack.

Fucking hell!

He gasped for air and spluttered. What the fuck? Why did they keep popping up? What werethey?

Oddly enough, tears built up around his eyes and he failed to breathe in properly, and he was left gasping for air — why was he doing that, he could breathe just fine, why couldn’t he breathe just fine it wasn’t like there was a lack of oxygen. Stop.

Stop. Stop, breathe. Breathe.

Why couldn’t he breathe? He held himself close.

Back. Forth.

Everything was okay. Everything was fine.

He walked into the kitchen and Ditzy dropped a plate of lasagna in front of him without saying a word.

Peter walked into the dorm, his head completely blank. Mechanically he walked towards his bed and absently brushed his hair, where he then slipped off his shoes and moved to sit down. Just as he was about to hit the covers, the bed moved a metre behind him and Peter landed on the floor. He winced at the crack noise from the bed, but otherwise didn’t react or comment. He stood up, moved a couple of steps and attempted to sit onto the bed again.

He massaged his butt absently after he once again found himself on the floor. He sighed.

Peter casually rubbed his eye to try and get rid of the feeling of having just cried earlier. 

He was being dramatic. 

(That was fine. He didn’t care that he was too dramatic. He just wanted to go to sleep.)

It was just. He didn’t understand the discs that kept popping up, and that scared him. They hadn’t showed up in the original book series, and to have something follow him that he didn’t understand was overwhelming to him — it was like it was pointing fun of him, in a way. And it was shocking, too, and it made him jumpy.

In the corner of the room, the three boys hidden behind James’ bed exchanged odd looks. When Peter tried to sit onto his bed for the third time, it didn’t move.

Without getting changed, he curled up on the covers and shut his eyes closed. He didn’t bother to shut the curtains either. The earlier euphoria from the back and forth with his dormmates was comically gone, as if it’d never been there in the first place.

Annoying portals? Daddy issues that were sky high? The fact he couldn’t study at the library that day and had to resort to his second choice? The fact he had no friends? The breathing attack thing he still didn’t understand? The fact that he hadn’t brushed his teeth after eating lasagna and was therefore a failure at absolutely fucking everything in life?

There was too much. But really, when was it not? His life was all the same. Inconveniences and him inevitably breaking down or getting tired. 

He just... there was too much. His mind was too busy and too empty at the same time and he was so sick of it. He missed the days where he could just sit on his windowsill and watch the sunflowers, or when he could hide away in the corridors with a friend nearby — not that he needed one. It was just. Nice, to have one, he guessed. But he didn’t need one.

He walked into Hogsmead with a slightly red nose and thin gloves. It was cold, Yule had passed a while back, and the slight remaining winter ambience remained. It was so fucking cheerful. If someone threw half-melted snow at him he was going to fucking materialise a small child and ditch it at them.

‘You can’t create small children’ one may argue. Well of course not. The only talent he had at transfiguration, or in magic at all, was in passing when he was younger. What he could do was a summoning charm, and a surprising amount of families visited Hogsmead.

(Despite the fact that Voldemort was practically ransacking the magical and muggle world.)

Voldemort was getting closer. He didn’t attack Hogwarts, just created disturbances around it. The school was practically divided, he’d heard many terrible rumours about Slytherins in the hallways and in the library. 

(Honestly, the Slytherins needed to find a new place to hold their meetings. Peter wasn’t deaf. He could hear fucking everything. And no, Lucius — because he knew the guy’s name now, apparently — no one cared if your buttons were imported from Taiwan.)

It was a mystery as to why Hogsmead was open when Voldemort was at large. Which dumbass had decided on that?

Ah yes, Dumbledore. Smartest wizard his shiny asscrack.

It was only a matter of time before the village got stormed. But, he doubted it would be that afternoon. Peter wandered through the melting snow and kicked a particularly round pebble down the path. It was loud, the clattering was unheard however, due to the fact that people were outrageously rowdy as per usual.

Peter walked through the village until it got quieter and more desolated. He found himself staring at the shrieking shack. His breath came out in the form of fog. Snow clung to his patchy boots.

Sometimes he forgot Remus was a werewolf. It didn’t effect Peter, so he didn’t think about it more than in passing when he’d notice Remus’ bed was empty or something. Sirius and James had cottoned on to Remus’ condition no doubt by now, but looking back Peter didn’t know when they had. One day chocolate had started to be at his bedside, and that was that. It had been earlier in the year, probably.

They were getting very secretive too. Pouring over a piece of parchment that they hid out of sight whenever Peter walked in. Peter was glad he had never made it a habit to knock, because sometimes he got a short glimpse and no one expected that he suspected anything because he’d never knocked before. When he didn’t knock, there was more of a chance to see things.

(No, that did not sound right. No, he didn’t care, because he knew what he meant.)

Of course he wanted to see bits of the map. The map was legendary!

Wind blew against the dry wood, creating an odd droning noise that sent a shiver down Peter’s spine. It was lonely. He was all alone, and by that point he was well and truly used to it. He didn’t know if he should’ve been proud of that or not.

He didn’t like being alone. But he didn’t mind being alone either. It was confusing. 

(He liked being alone when it was by choice. Why was he so upset about it then? If he wasn’t alone by choice, then what was he? If he wanted to have friends, he would have been nicer to people. He was mean on purpose. Surely he should be okay then?)

Peter heard distant laughter, and froze in place. It mellowed out, and the wind covered the disturbance as if nothing had ever been there in the first place.

Peter closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

In, out.

(—breathe—)

In, out.

He rubbed his nose in a pitiful attempt to feel something other than cold, and started to wander down the snowy path away from the shack and the village. He heard an odd shuffling and turned to look behind him, but nothing was there. 

Great, he was hearing things. Always a good sign.

He sneezed, and felt a bit embarrassed that it was so small and high-pitched. 

(“He’s so cute, but—”)

Actually no, his sneeze was fine, what was there to be ashamed of in a sneeze just because it was high-pitched didn’t make it girly — and even if it was girly that didn’t mean that he was wrong, or disgusting, or terrible, because of it; why would he be ashamed of it — oh no just because of a silly little sneeze — nope he was fine, absolutely great, absolutely spiffy, oh was that a bench over there? Yes it was, he was just going to go over there and pretend that nothing was happening in his head.

He wandered over and sat down on the wooden bench. Seeing as no one was around, he crossed his legs on the wood instead of letting them drape down. He put his elbows on his knees and let his hands cradle his face. The wind battered the trees lightly, and he let the cool air drift over and calm him.

Crack.

Peter heard his neck click in response to how harshly he twisted to look behind himself. Nothing. It definitely sounded like those one of those portal things. Yet again.

“Oh sure, you’re sane Peter.” He mumbled to himself, “Yeah, hearing things is perfectly normal, why wouldn’t it be?”

(He wasn’t hearing things. The portal disc thing had been there, he knew it. It must’ve been. He wasn’t crazy.)

He massaged his neck and relaxed back onto his knees, his breathing harder and faster than usual. Peter’s reaction wasn’t as bad as the last time. Maybe it came out of a sense of loss over the portal thingies, it was likely because he knew he’d never know what they were. It was probably some auror getting his kicks out of terrorising a Hogwarts student. Maybe he didn’t react too badly because he was so tired, because he was so awfully done with the world. He didn’t know. Some thoughts he had over them were contradictory, but in the end, he just didn’t care.

They’d been appearing more frequently. He remembered seeing them over winter break, albeit rarely, and occasionally out of the blue at school when he was alone. But he hadn’t seen them more than five or six times, that afternoon included.

The last two he had seen were in the same month.

(What did it mean? Why did he care? If they killed him, If some massive dragon appeared out of one and killed him, would he care? Probably not. Dead men don’t care.)

Ah. He noticed something in the half melted snow and felt his blood run a little faster.

“You know,” he said softly. “I’m well aware you have an invisibility cloak after that time you followed me to the kitchens.”

The space next to him was instantly occupied. The cloak dropped instantly. Sirius and James looked down at him.

“So! Pettigrew, what was that?” Sirius asked immediately. Peter hummed to himself at the lack of acknowledgement of stalking or apologies for doing so.

“I saw your footprints?”

“No. The... the purple thingy?”

Peter glanced up. “Oh, the disc thing?”

Sirius rolled his eyes and nodded pointedly. 

So they’d seen it. He wondered why sometimes he didn’t hear it appearing and other times he did — for example then, he had only heard it disappear. It was comforting to know it wasn’t a figment of his imagination, but he felt an odd sense of discomfort that people other than himself knew about it.

“Dunno.“

James frowned down his nose, and Peter got hit with a quick memory of a smaller James running after him with a happy, curious smile on his face, asking him question after question and practically tackling him at the chance to be his friend. The James now looked more jaded; more experienced and tired.

So the world had finally hit him in the face. Peter vaguely wondered who in his family had died.

“Hey, we asked you a question,” James sneered. “Only polite you answer.”

“Sorry. I’m honest, I dunno.”

He put his feet onto the ground, and let his body appear more relaxed. He didn’t feel relaxed, but that wasn’t important. If you looked the part, you might as well call yourself the part.

James surveyed him. “Fine. Why’re you out here then?”

“James!” Sirius hissed. “Don’t just let it go.”

“He doesn’t know, I can tell.” James whispered back in the same tone.

Peter wondered if he was being interrogated. Damn, maybe he really should have just stayed at Hogwarts. It begged the question; which out of the two of them was the good cop? They both looked like they wanted to curse his socks off.

Both of their wands were pointed at him, but Peter wasn’t too bothered about it. They were annoying, but they weren’t malicious. Peter politely pretended not to notice, but glared anyway.

Really, what was their deal? He wasn’t doing anything illegal. Not yet, that was for when he moved to Australia and started up a pot farm or something. But that plan only came into play if he couldn’t find his dream small apartment and in walking distance of a shopping centre. And, well. It’d come into play many years from then.

“I was tired?” Peter drawled slowly, subtly accusing them of being thick. “Wanted to go for a walk.”

He felt his face lose all hostility as a familiar wave of tiredness swept over him. Peter considered glaring at them more, but instead fell back and draped his head against the side of the wooden chair. He breathed in and out deeply. “You know what? Go ahead,” he mumbled. “Give me horns or something. Just let me set an alarm, I’m going to sleep so...” His wand did a few choice motions.

He closed his eyes.

“You can’t be serious.” James, oddly enough, sounded more amused than annoyed.

“I’m tired,” he repeated again. “Don’t like small talk. And I’m very busy preparing for exams.” The exams were in five months. He was lying, he didn’t care if he passed, and he hadn’t been studying.

Peter was cold and slightly damp from the moisture in the air, but he tried to get comfortable anyway. His eyes were still closed when he heard and felt someone sliding onto the bench next to him.

“James!”

“I’m tired too.”

“James, he’s the enemy! He enlarged our shoes just last week!”

“I’m tired,” James shrugged. “This has all gone on long enough. I just want a nap,”

Peter hummed in silent stunned disbelief, yet still tried to get comfortable. Again, he was too tired to think things over. Maybe he’d taken pity on him.

Someone else joined the bench.

“I’d drape the cloak over us,” Sirius’ voice said, “But it’s not that warm... You’re a pain, James.”

“I’m your pain.”

“That’s gay.”

“You’re gay.”

“Shut up, come closer and let me steal your heat.”

Peter let the cold wind taunt him as he tried for a comfortable sleeping position on the cold wooden bench.

The three boys curled up together, hostility waning in the cold air, and let the rustling leaves rock them to sleep.

“I still hate your guts,” Sirius said sternly three hours later. He stretched the cricks out of his shoulders and neck.

“Die in a hole,” Peter shrugged. He wandered off, slightly in front of them, and ignored the sight of his bag turning a disgusting shade of purple. Sirius’ wand dropped and the two boys overtook Peter.

“Fuck you,” James said half heartedly.

“Choke on a dick.”

They walked down the Hogsmead path and listened to distant laughter and talking.

“We’ll stop with the pranks.” Sirius announced once they were nearly out of hearing distance. “We’re tired too.” 

Peter watched his long black hair flickering in the breeze. Sirius and James didn’t look back.

Peter felt a fragile flicker of warmth in his stomach. He cupped his mouth. “Fine.” He called for them, “Still hate you though.”

They both flipped him off, and Peter recalled the time he had done it to them in the hallway that one fight many years ago.

They hated each other, sure. But for the moment they were at a comfortable standstill, and Peter was okay with that.

Chapter Text

It was the day before they went back for the summer, and Peter was sleeping outside near the lake. Well, not entirely asleep, he was relaxing more than anything. He curled up on the soft blanket he’d brought outside and pitched out under a tree, and listened to faint laughter and occasional loud swearing from other Hogwarts students. Eventually the seasons had gotten warmer, so he took advantage of it to take a well deserved nap. He could see himself making it a personal challenge to sleep in the most random places, in the future.

Someone ran past him, the shadow blocked his sunshine, and he groggily raised himself onto his elbows. A small girl rushed across the grass, her eyes focused on her wrist, and she nearly collided with another small girl around the same age.

“You!” The first girl said, her blonde hair shifting in the breeze. “You!” She repeated.

The other small girl smiled widely, the cute smile raised her freckled cheeks up. “Me,” she grinned. “You found out?”

The small blonde girl held up her wrist and showed something to Freckles that only they could see. “You knew! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to be... imposing.”

“You could never be! You’re mine, I’m yours.”

“And you’re okay with that?” Freckles said softly, smile a bit smaller. Her voice barely carried over.

“I could never not be okay with that!”

Then they hugged, close and tight and as happy as could be. Peter smiled softly and relaxed back onto his blanket.

A Gryffindor rocketed to her feet at dinner, and practically stormed over to a seventh-year Ravenclaw. “It’s fucking you, you whore?”

McGonagall rose to her feet slowly with a sigh, but Dumbledore gave her a knowing look and put a hand on her shoulder, which made her sit back down. 

“Don’t be such a bitch about it,” the Ravenclaw sniffed. 

“What the fuck possessed you to send me fucking poetry instead of just telling it to me straight?”

“It was funny,” he shrugged. “It was also interesting to wonder when you’d figure it out.”

The Gryffindor growled and put her hands on her hips, “Can’t fucking believe you did this for six years! Do you have no friends or something?”

The Ravenclaw hummed. “I was beginning to lose hope, if I’m being honest. You must be pretty stupid to miss some of the hints I put in there.”

“Dickhead!” She hissed.

“You liked it.”

Her face twisted a little bit, and a light blush showed on her tanned cheeks. She looked away and held her arm to her face briefly. “So,” she read. “‘For brashness never a lion compare, a cauldron a single lifeline, a life to share.’ That’s pretty sappy bullshit.”

The Ravenclaw turned bright red. “Hey, you’d run out of material too after six years!”

“Fucker.” 

“Loser.”

She scratched the back of her head, and awkwardly looked to the side. With ease she ignored the hall staring at the two of them. She glanced up behind her eyelashes. “I’m glad it’s you, dumbass.”

The Ravenclaw smugly grinned. “You better be.” 

She met his eyes. Her face dropped, “You don’t feel the same way?”

The boy looked despairing, but smiled on fondly regardless.

“Maya. I wrote you poetry every few days for six years. I think it’s pretty obvious that I feel the same way.”

They stared at each other in the eyes and quietly embraced each other in a slow and sweet kiss, and people from all over the room started to cheer. Peter could see a slither of writing on Maya’s sleeve, ‘a life to share’ standing out in white pen amongst dark brown skin.

‘Time a tickled temptress,’ it continued lazily down her elbow. ‘’Forever’ an urban myth; regardless, your cheeks a dazzling scarlet; a sight to behold and a sight to miss.’

“Thank Merlin,” one Gryffindor grinned nearby, “Thought she’d never figure it out.”

His dad looked down his nose at Peter at the station. “Welcome, brat.” A few parents looked over, scandalised. Peter rolled his eyes and dragged the trunk behind him.

“Hey, dad.” 

Peter walked forward without a second glance back at him, towards the beaten truck down in the parking lot.

“You’re such a pussy, Peter.” 

Yeah, yeah. He’d heard it before.

He looked down at his stomach. The sunflower was so faint that he had to be in certain lightings to see the outline. Sometimes he forgot what sunflowers looked like. It wasn’t a dramatic thing, he knew the middle was round and brown and the petals were yellow and orange, but he wouldn’t be able to recall the details for the life of him.

Were the petals pointed or oval shaped? 

Stifling.

There was a constant pressure whenever he was home. It clung to his clothing and sank into his socks, practically revelling in the hot summer months. The sweat soon seemed more like a luxury than not — it reminded him of Australia and the hot summer months. At the time he had hated it and how his feet burnt on the pavement on the way to school and how the sun heated the car until the metal seat-belts left behind marks on his bare skin when he left, but looking back on it, it wasn’t that bad.

Australia wasn’t a perfect place, but it had been the place he had called home and he missedit. 

Most days the house felt empty. Those were the good days and the bad days too. When it was empty, the pressure seemed heavier. He was alone and not alone at the same time, and he was sick of it. When he left to go to the shops he had to look all around to make sure Lockhart wasn’t near him. House-elf killer McGee just didn’t seem to be fun potential company.

He missed Hogwarts, even with the blank looks and cold dormmates. He missed Ditzy and the days she let him talk and talk and talk until he walked to his bed with a sore throat and a lighter heart. He missed the classes that took up all his time, and he missed the magic and the feeling of freedom.

He didn’t want to think about home. Even when he was there.

(It was... silence and yelling, burning summer heat and regret and a crippling sense of loneliness.)

His bed, the same one from long ago, was too small for him, and his feet dangled over the end. Peter eyed the grubby window, too dirty to see through, and watched the silhouette of a particularly fat bug wander over the surface.

One day. One day he’d be far from there. Somewhere nice and homely and small and easy to care for and full of options and entertainment and optional solitude. He smiled.

Maybe then the constant pressure wouldn’t remain. Maybe then it’d fade in the wind or be cast into the garbage, just like his mum’s sunflowers those many, many years ago.

Gardening.

Crack. 

Fear, spiked adrenaline. Silence.

No more gardening.

Fourth year.

Silence and comfort. Hiding from roommates, lounging in the ROR. Always in the ROR.

Over.

Fifth year.

“Pettigrew,” Lily greeted succinctly.

“Evans.”

She passed over his timetable and didn’t spare him a second glance. 

Alice glared at him as he walked through the common room to the door. He sent her an awkward smile and looked away. He was never sure how to act around her.

The portrait hole opened just as Peter was within four metres of it, and Sirius stepped in with his arms over the shoulder’s of Remus and James, who were both smiling as if it were their wedding days. Peter casually redirected his path to a comfortable chair nearby and waited for them to leave. Oh sure, he could go and ask them to move, but that required way more energy than he wanted to give. Talking wasn’t that bad compared to sitting aimlessly for a couple of minutes, but was that really true?

“Well, Gryffs, the moment you’ve all been waiting for!” Sirius announced, and drew everyone’s attention. All three dug into their pockets and withdrew bottles.

“That’s...” someone trailed off, aghast.

“Firewhiskey,” Remus smugly said, “And nothing but the finest.”

Lily gasped, outraged. “You’re not of age! How did you get it?”

“That’s a secret, Evans dear,” Sirius winked. James smiled at her brightly.

Peter opened a book he conveniently had on his figure. He listened to the conversation and waited for when they’d stop blocking the portrait hole.

“Someone ought to tell McGonagall,” Lily insisted, determined enough to follow through with the rules but not to the extent of pinning the respectful term ‘Professor’ in front of McGonagall.

“Minnie would be proud,” James grinned.

Merlin, they were meant to be. Peter flipped a page.

“‘Minnie,’” Lily drew out, “Would be pissed.”

Remus winked, “Ah, but she won’t find out, will she?”

Lily frowned.

“It would be a shame,” Sirius sidled up to her while Remus and James watched, “For someone to tell the house-elves that you really, really like banana pie.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Banana cereal?”

“Black.”

“Banana fudge? Banana omelette? I’m sure you’d love to have bananas for breakfast, lunch and dinner.”

“I swear to Merlin, Black, if you do that I will —“

“Not tell on us to the Professor,” Remus interrupted. 

“Goes for the rest of you, too,” James said cheerfully. 

A seventh year barked out teasing laughter, “What if you like bananas?” 

“Hey,” His boyfriend whined.

James winked at them, “I know for a fact that you hate liquorice, Brady, so we’d mention that instead.” 

James knew everyone in Gryffindor. Peter, admittedly, was impressed by that. James knew everyone personally enough to list their likes and dislikes. He was a really social individual.

“You whore,” the seventh year laughed affectionately. “Well that’s a shame, I guess no one will be telling on you then. Have fun with the whiskey guys, but make sure to have a glass of cold water nearby in case your throats get too hot.”

“Hey!” Lily turned to face the seventh year, astounded. “It’s against the rules!”

“Let them live,” the boyfriend said. “In times like these...”

In times like these. Peter absently put his hand through his curls and breathed in deeply. In, out.

She understood that, like everyone did. “Fine.”

The boys cheered. 

Peter was about to stand up to go to through the portrait hole, because they had finally (finally!) moved out of the way, but he noticed too late that Sirius was heading his way, and couldn’t dodge the hand that clasped onto his shoulder.

James was being loud and trying to impress Lily again, so no one was looking their direction other than Remus. Peter was confused, so he made to open his mouth but Remus shook his head and they both took him up to the dormitory.

They frogmarched him in and Peter felt his stomach drop in anxiety. The door opened and closed again seconds later, and James wandered in with a serious face.

“What?” Peter hesitated, and looked at the window briefly before staring at Sirius who was right in front of him. “I didn’t do something again did I?”

“We’re going to put this simply,” Sirius said slowly, the playful persona from earlier no longer visible. “Two years ago, we made a map.”

Peter knew that, so why the fuck were they telling him? From what he remembered, it was top secret and limited only to the marauders, and although Peter Pettigrew had been a marauder in the original story and therefore had access, he didn’t now. There was no reason as to why they’d tell him, they were definitely not friends

“Alright?”

Remus continued, “At first it didn’t work but now... well, it’s a great piece of magic, if I have to say so myself. It shows secret passageways and footsteps and people... and we charmed it ourselves, so we know for a fact that it shows the truth and it can only show the truth. So, Peter, if that’s the case...”

James dug into his pocket, whispered something, and extended it in front of him. He pointed to their dorm, to their four stationary figures, and Peter felt his stomach drop in horror.

Sirius cleared his throat. “So then, Peter, if that’s even who you are. Why does it say that your name’s Mary?”

Peter looked upon Mary’s end rarely, and when he did, it was with feelings of loss. At the time, she’d been ready for it, indeed, she hadn’t cared. But in hindsight, Peter did. He felt bad that it happened, and bad that it had to.

In the end, everything had come to a still in a harsh and cold way, and Peter hated that. If only, he sometimes thought, the world had been great enough. Because sometimes people blamed themselves for things, and sometimes it was truly the world that was the problem.

Peter did not look back on Mary’s memories, happy or not, with pride: rather; sadness. And that wasn’t her fault. No, it was a fault of Peter’s self, and of the world, and not something he could do away with anytime soon.

Haha, shit.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck — that didn’t make sense, he was born as Peter so by all means he should have been Peter.

He could blame it on a glitch in the enchanting but what were the chances of that? Mary was... Mary had once been his name. But he wasn’t Mary, not anymore, he was Peter Pettigrew and he had given into that a long time ago so there was no way he was still Mary. He didn’t feel like Mary. He felt like Peter, because that was who he was.

“I don’t know,” he lied. “Maybe my parents were religious.”

Remus glared at him, “You’re lying. You know. You’ve got a tell.”

“And what’s that?”

“I’m not stupid enough to tell you.”

“And I’m not stupid enough to tell any of you anything either.” Peter snapped. “So what? So what if I do know. Why do you even care? I don’t owe you anything and fuck, even if I did I wouldn’t tell you because I don’t want to!”

Sirius ignored him and continued in a low voice, “We know you’re not transgender,” he said. Peter scrunched up his face in confusion. “Christa from Ravenclaw doesn’t have her dead name, and I don’t think you’re... you’re not a girl, right?”

(“You’re such a pussy, Peter.”)

“I’m a boy. Fuck you!” He felt like a cat being backed into a corner, so he lashed out. “So what if it’s Mary? I’m Peter, I was born Peter and so I am!”

Sirius and James looked at Remus, who subtly nodded to confirm. 

“There’s obviously something wrong with your map,” Peter continued in a chilling tone.

“There’s not,” James chirruped. “We checked, a couple times! You know what’s wrong, so tell us. C’mon, it’s not a big deal or anything.”

“Sure it’s not. But I don’t give a shit if it’s not a big deal to you, I’m not telling you anything.”

“Why’re you Mary?” Sirius pressed straightforwardly.

“I’m Peter.”

“Also the truth,” Remus muttered, bewildered. “You don’t have multiple personalities or identities or... uh, do you?”

“No.”

“Yep, true too.”

Peter grit his teeth. Calm down, it wasn’t a big deal, calm down.

Calm down.

He rose to his feet, slightly trembling, and stormed over to the door. “It’s none of your business,” he hissed. “Don’t ask again. I’m allowed to keep secrets!”

“Well yeah, but this one can’t matter that much can it, right Mary? C’mon, we just want to improve the map!” James insisted.

Peter aimed his wand at him and gave him a wedgie. Peter ran out the door before he could be cursed back.

Peter quickly jogged through the common room and finally exited, where he made an immediate turn to the kitchens. 

When Peter was younger, he’d sometimes referred to himself as a girl. But that was when he was really young, back when mum was still alive and he knew thinking things like that wouldn’t have consequences. Back when things hadn’t clicked yet — it was acting on a habit he didn’t understand, a habit that came from seemingly nowhere.

In his head, he was both Mary and not. He grew up confused, with a life that shouldn’t have been there; there. Everything was mixed together, memories weren’t in chronological order, things were... confusing.

But... he got older, things burned, and he realised that he wasn’t Mary, not anymore. He couldn’t be Mary. Mary had long black hair and green eyes, Mary had an open and warm personality and a kind mum and a neglectful older brother and a habit to daydream in class about small fluffy animals in bow ties.

Mary was free, Mary was slightly upset with the world and jaded but she continued on regardless with the brightest, genuine personality she could muster and eventually he realised that that wasn’t him.

Mary liked to eat lasagna when times got hard. It was her favourite food. When Peter tried it for the first time, he’d spat it all out. It tasted terrible. Yet even after he spat it out, he felt better than before he had eaten it. So when it was available, he ate it anyway.

Maybe he was Mary. Maybe he kept the same soul, which seemed likely if souls did exist. But... he wasn’t her, he couldn’t possibly be. When he was reborn, he started to think about things differently.

He liked staring out windows and watching sunsets, he liked standing up for himself and doing what wasn’t right but what was necessary. He liked being a boy. Mary didn’t care for any of those things.

Mary wasn’t selfish, she was kind and open and so by all means Peter wasn’t her.

He was reborn with many new qualities, and if one of those new qualifies was his gender then so what? He was a boy.

He used to be a girl, but that changed. That was that.

He didn’t hate Mary, but he realised that she wasn’t who he wanted to be, even if he still shared and admired some personality traits and quirks.

(But then mum died, who’s fault was that? — And dad let it be known that any feminine qualities that remained had to be purged.)

Peter always liked long hair, like Mary. They both liked flowers and the smell of fallen rain, they liked dancing in their underwear to the sound of the neighbours’ music late at night with no one to watch, they liked the sound of cheerful laughter and hot baths and nice smelling soaps and fluffy gowns and pastel artwork and he felt... off, when he realised that his dad hated that he had those qualities, when before his family would affectionately tease him.

(Dad had two categories for everything. Feminine and girly, or masculine and manly. He sorted everything into two boxes, even if Peter couldn’t understand the reasoning behind most things. After a while, Peter had started to do it too, he started to categorise and avoid certain behaviours and to get mad about being called certain names and he hated it, he hated it, he hated it, he hated it, he hated it he hated it he hated it he —)

Things had changed — it was how the world worked. It was how it was, and Peter had always hated that.

Who was his dad to dictate what ’girly’ qualities remained? Who was his dad to yell and scream and berate and threaten him when he realised that Peter didn’t represent a typical, manly, stereotypical boy as much as others did — as others, like Sirius and James and Remus and hell, Snape did.

You know what? His dad wasn’t important.

He... he wasn’t Mary. He was Peter. If that map had him as Mary, then what did that mean? Did that mean that he was forever doomed to be Mary, when he felt and smelt and heard and saw and tasted things so differently then before? Even then?

He was different. In his mind, Mary was a different category, a forgotten memory he sometimes rarely recalled. In his mind, Mary was both important and unimportant and that had always been factual and who did his roommates think they were to suggest he was Mary?

He was Peter! He breathed the air as Peter, and walked through the market as Peter, he struggled and he yelled and he sweated as Peter and...

Peter was no longer the young girl with long black hair, with the open and warm personality, with the kind mum and neglectful older brother. He didn’t dream about cute animals.

Peter... he had many secrets, and Mary was one of them.

She would always be a secret. He had many, and if he wanted them to stay a secret then for fucks sake they deserved to stay as a secret! And to yank him out of his day and demandanswers from him about something so personal, meant to be his, meant to ground him and comfort him and...

Fuckers.

That map. That fucking map, that claimed it showed only the truth.

It was a lie.

(The sweet little girl was well and truly corrupted by who he became, her future was well and truly ripped from her. She was no longer. Mary was no longer. It was Peter, and only Peter.)

Peter tickled the pear and practically slammed the door behind him.

That time, he didn’t eat the lasagna for comfort. He ate it as a statement.

He was not her. 

She was his, and he was not her. Peter was his second chance, his second being.

(Peter was himself, with his own mind and memories and very self. And if he did things that reflected what Mary would have done; that was fine, because in the end, if he said he was Peter, than he was. Did it really matter, anyway?)

When his dad started to use insults more often, or brag and go through with other arguably questionable behaviour more, some of that started to become rooted into Peter’s mind as ‘normal.’ So he overlooked some things, and when he mirrored his dad, he thought things like ‘at least it wasn’t this,’ or ‘at least it wasn’t that.’ It could have been worse.

So if he said something sexist, deep down he knew it was bad, in his head he knew it was bad, but it could have been worse. Take any person to his house, and they’d see that Peter could have been. Much more terrible, much more vulgar and much more rude.

Peter was doing his best to filter it out, but he couldn’t win it all.

(He avoided feminine behaviour and mannerisms because it was easy. Because that was what he knew, because that rooted him further away from the idea of Mary and reconstructed him as Peter, a new revolutionary figure who was stronger and better than ever. Because... because he was... he didn’t know.)

“Sorry,” Remus said as Peter folded his newly washed pillowcase later that afternoon. It was still maroon. “I don’t really get it but... yeah, sorry.”

“You’ll leave me alone?”

Remus met eyes with his friends silently.

“Okay.”

“Alright, then.”

They turned away to their seperate corners of the dorm.

“Will you ever tell us why?” Sirius asked.

He grit his teeth. “Maybe. In a long, long time.”

(Never.)

He stared into the mirror. In his left hand, he held a shaking tube of black nail polish. He had to get off his high horse. He had to look at himself and see himself from an unbiased place. He had to stop thinking about himself as this perfect man, and as someone who could be girly after all. Regardless of what his dad tried to impart on him.

(Peter ended up curled in on himself, whispering to himself to get up and telling himself to hide the bottle and his head yelled and screamed and he heaved and heaved and he cried because he didn’t used to be like that, he used to be—)

He needed to be Peter. He needed to cast people out, because if he didn’t, he would die. He needed to be mean and stand up for himself, because he wouldn’t be treated like a follower, like dirt. 

He would be selfish, because he was too preoccupied with his own thoughts to be anything else. So what if people hated him for it? They could go fuck off! 

Self-preservation. Selfishness, manliness. All words, all had arguments and tears and sweat behind them. Complicated. 

Halloween approached and the general mood of the castle got jollier. Peter clawed at his own throat and looked into the bathroom mirror in disgust, all the while aching and trembling and heaving because what he did he accomplish in getting this far?

He treated others like dirt, and he soon enough he became it.

Oh how Mary would have laughed at that. Mary would have forgiven him and held him close, she’d have rubbed his back and comforted him. She’d have understood.

(So much for understanding. Of course she understood, but he wasn’t Mary anymore.)

Maybe Mary was Peter. Corrupt and ruined.

Alone. 

(Did he ever like being alone? He told himself he did but...)

(Peter was the first to admit that he was a liar. The biggest liar in the world.)

Peter sat on a seat next to a window on the seventh floor. It was calming to watch the world go past, to spot the students down below laughing and playing, chasing each other and occasionally pulling small animals along.

His frog had passed away.

It wasn’t like it was a big animal or anything but... Peter had liked him. He was a good frog, never too loud, always doing its best.

A good frog. He had honestly expected him to last past fifth year. But two years was long, he guessed.

Peter leaned his head on the window, and hummed softly as the people went by below. He felt... something. He shouldn’t have cared, it was such a small animal but he did care. He cared a lot, and it hurt.

“Pettigrew?”

It wasn’t the time for people to approach him. Go away.

Go away.

He didn’t reply.

“Right. Why’re you up here?”

He didn’t turn around to look at her. His forehead felt a little bit cold against the glass. “Why is everyone always questioning me?” He mumbled to himself, half hoping she’d hear.

Peter raised his voice for her. “Should I apologise for this too?” 

Evans huffed. “Go fuck yourself. If you understood friendships then you’d understand.”

Merlin he was so tired.

“Then I guess I don’t understand.”

“You know you’re in the wrong, don’t you? That’s why you’re not yelling at me right now.” Or maybe because it was early in the morning. Apparently he wasn’t the only one in a bad mood, he wondered if something had happened to her recently. Nothing he knew about.

He flipped around, his vision slightly blurry. “Well shit, my bad.” He wasn’t in the mood for her, for something new.

Her nostrils flared, and Peter could almost see a wire visibly snap. “Oh piss off, Peter. Ever heard of empathy? You know you’re wrong and you’re not even apologising. You really didn’t care about us! It’s not about you sticking up for us, it was never about that. It was about you caring for once in your fucking life.”

What was it about Lily and always making things about her?

“Oh I’m so sorry, your highness. Is the fact that people aren’t bowing down for you ruffling your feathers? Should I play sad flute music for you?” Peter really didn’t feel like arguing with Lily. He was so tired and lonely and furious — not just at the world, but at himself. But, well. Self defence and all that.

Lily drew in a long and unstable breath. Her shoulders rose up, and her cheeks turned a furious red. “Fuck you!” She hissed, pure unadulterated venom, and Peter jolted back in shock. “Fuck you, fuck all of you! Everyone is so fucking selfish! I have problems too, you know? I’m a muggleborn in a wizarding world, and you think that’s not hard, you think that I believe that I’m a princess and — and perfect? Why do you people think my life is perfect? It’s fucking not!”

Ah, Peter thought to himself silently. Lily wasn’t necessarily just yelling at him; she was also yelling at Hogwarts and the wizarding world too. Peter just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

Well alright, he said the wrong thing as well. Whatever.

“My sister hates me, did you know that? She doesn’t look me in the eyes, she’s disgusted by me! We used to be so close, and then thanks to... to magic, she despises me and ridicules me and don’t you think I’m fucking struggling? Just because your life’s so hard doesn’t mean that everyone else isn’t going through hard shit. So why don’t you shove that down your throat and choke on it?”

“Thanks for sharing,” Peter quietly monotoned. Lily was visibly straining her bright red ears to hear. Her eyebrows were in a sharp ‘v’ shape. Anger radiated out of every pore. “Why don’t I do it too? Then you’ll see how bloody uncomfortable I am. Let’s see,” he said, “my soulmate is dead.” He crossed his arms vacantly and looked up at her, unimpressed.

“Mum’s dead, dads an asshole, people are assholes, I’m an asshole — are you uncomfortable yet? Hm, that’s just it. You don’t care, do you? Say what you will, but you don’t. It’s just like how I don’t give a shit about your life either. I don’t fucking care, and I never will.

“Yeah you’re right, the world does treat you like shit. So what? Why do I care? I only care about myself, isn’t that what you said? What’s the point of telling all of this to me? Do you expect me to do something about it? Do you expect me to apologise, to lie and say that everything will be okay?”

Lily stared him in the eyes, and didn’t hesitate to reply. “Guess what, Peter?” She shook her head in disappointment, riding the high of the moment, ready to kick him to the ground like, in her opinion, he truly deserved — “You’re so much like dirt that I don’t give a shit about anything you’d have to say anyway.” She walked away then, gait high and unbridled by anxieties.

Peter raised his eyebrows, unimpressed, and rested his head back against the glass.

He never had picked out a name for his frog, had he?

Peter looked out one of the windows a week after the encounter to see James suspending Snape in mid air. Peter smiled to himself.

Peter walked into the common room and glimpsed a crying Lily huddled close to Alice. He wandered over and ignored Alice’s glare. He smirked.

“Where’s your empathy now?”

Chapter Text

Lily started to hang around more with the marauders, which meant he was sent glares more often than not. The day they were to take her to hang out in their dorm, Peter was going to put his foot down and curse them all to have antlers for the rest of their life.

But, fortunately, the marauders weren’t showing up in the dorm as much as they used to be. Peter suspected they’d found somewhere more remote and private to hang out. It was great, he had more moments he could stand in the centre of the room and just take everything in.

Peter’d ordered a guitar in the post, and he finally got a chance to sit down and play it. Mary had been fantastic at playing the guitar, and so Peter decided he wanted to try it too. He didn’t have the same limbs, or the same muscle memory, but he had an idea of what he was meant to do.

He strummed a few times and readjusted it in his arms a couple more, and a whole song later he was wiping a tear from his eye.

Peter grinned as he looked down at it. Yeah, he was awful.

Oh fuck he replaced his frog with a guitar —

Peter eyed the nail polish, raised it up... and placed it on the sink. He stared, but it didn’t move, so he looked up into his reflection and watched the slightly distorted fog-covered mirror show his bare shoulders and the towel wrapped around his waist.

It wasn’t a big deal, just put it on. It was fine. It was...

He opened the lid, shut his eyes tight and tried to aim for his hand. His palm felt wet rather than the tips of his nails.

(“Peter, you’re such a —“)

He vomited in the sink.

Peter woke up to the sound of four people laughing, and he felt his stomach fill with dread. It finally happened. 

“She’s practically your mum now, Sirius,” James snorted. “We’ve adopted you. You’re an honorary Potter.”

“Sounds nice,” Sirius reflected peacefully. “We’re a big, happy family and Remus is our yappy chihuahua.”

“Oi.”

Lily tutted, “He wouldn’t make for a very good chihuahua.”

“Oi. Hey now. Hey. No, I’d be fantastic. I’ve got everything built in.”

“Like what?” She teased, “A case of very fluffy bed head?”

“I guess so,” Remus teased. “Along with a very striking personality.”

Sirius coughed. “Don’t know what chihuahua’s you’ve seen.”

James laughed quietly. “How do you even pronounce chihuahua? It’s like one of those names you think you know and then the real pronunciation hits you decades later in the face, like ‘cha-hah-hah.’”

“Stop talking James,” Remus pleaded. “That’s terrible.”

“To ‘hua’ or not to ‘hua,’” James continued, “That is the question.” Peter wanted to jump off the moving staircases.

Lily’s voice arose, full of apprehension and surprise. “You know Shakespeare?”

“The guys been popping up on my arm for years. It’d be a miracle if I didn’t know him. I swear he becomes visible in finer detail every time he pops up, just look, wait.” The sound of a sleeve being pulled up, “There he is!”

“Of all things, that is there all the time,” Sirius pondered aloud.

Lily sounded pleased, “I could say the same about boobs.” 

“Hey!” James squeaked, “I thought we both recognised that that was Sirius’ fault.”

A sound of clothing moving. “Oh hey, look!” She laughed, and James died a bit inside. Sirius and Remus choked on laughter.

A brief silence.

“Boobs.”

“Sirius! I swear to Merlin —“

Remus cackled, “You’re matching.”

Peter bid the day an inevitable misery and rolled back over to go to sleep. In the morning, he’d curse James or whoever was unlucky enough to be in his path with antlers. But at this moment, sleep was the only important thing in the world.

The house-elves rushed around cooking sweets and other goods. Ditzy tittered past with a stack of plates in her hands. She jolted to a stop when she spotted him. Other elves rushed around her stationary figure while yelling at each other and narrowly dodging pots and pans.

“Misters Pettigrew! Why’s is you not at the feast?”

He massaged his shoulder absently, “I don’t want to deal with... people.”

“We’s don’t have lasagna today.” She said sternly, “We’s too busy to cook it.”

Peter watched an elf run into the edge of a table and winced. “That’s alright. Do you guys need any help? I’m pretty good in the kitchen.”

Several elves looked scandalised, but Ditzy in all her motherly house-elf wisdom smiled accommodatingly and agreed. “If Misters Pettigrew feels up to it. There’s some pans we’s can’t reach.”

He looked to the left and saw three elves stacked on top of each other trying to reach the edge of a frying pan.

“Can’t you magic it down?” He asked, already standing up and walking over to it.

“Oh noes, is a busy day and we’s need to preserve energy.”

Personally, Peter thought using magic would take less energy than climbing up two friends and sitting on their heads, but whatever. He stepped on the tips of his toes, and managed to grab the handle and bring it down.

“Anything else?”

Ditzy pointed to a large variety of pots and pans on higher shelves. He blinked slowly and walked over to the second one he could see.

“If you’re all so small, why do you have shelves that you can barely reach?”

“Ah, yes. Misters Dumbledore is a wise wise man, with talents of many things but designing is... not one of them.”

Peter noticed Sirius staring at Snape from across the great hall.

“How long?” Peter asked. He stabbed a potato and politely ignored the way Sirius jumped at the sound of his voice. They had ended up next to each other somehow, and Peter didn’t exactly make a habit of talking to people so Sirius was reasonably surprised.

“‘How long,’ what?” 

He nodded to Snape’s figure, isolated at the Slytherin table, playing around with his soup, a spoon perched daintily in his hand.

“How long’ve you fancied him?”

Sirius picked up his glass and studiously ignored looking up again, his friends’ attention taken up in their own conversation. He scrunched up his nose.

Peter hummed and accepted the lack of reply, but just as a piece of potato was about to enter his mouth, Sirius opened his mouth.

He hesitated, closed it slightly and then finally muttered a reply. “The fact that we ended up in that same carriage... it wasn’t an accident.”

“So, for a while.”

“I was jealous of his long hair at the train station first year, so. Always, I guess.” Sirius sipped his pumpkin juice, slipped on a smile and turned to James to playfully make fun of him. They all laughed, and Peter felt a section of himself crack.

(“Just because your life’s so hard doesn’t mean that everyone else isn’t going through hard shit. So why don’t you shove that in your throat and fucking choke on it?”)

He heard a familiar crack, and he recognised it with a single sigh. Another crack. Gone.

Peter walked to his next class and listened to people stuttering, spluttering, gasping and whispering. 

“What was that?”

He continued to walk forward, and didn’t look back.

Crack. Crack crack crack, crack. Crack. Crack. Crack.

He gasped and floundered for air, and opened his eyes to the empty foreboding silence of the room of requirement.

Empty.

Crack... Crack.

He swallowed.

“Lupin.” Peter walked slightly faster than usual down the hallway. Remus turned around, tired and peeved, and raised a honeyed eyebrow. 

“Yeah?”

Peter reached him, and searched in his over the shoulder bag to retrieve some parchment. “Here, you missed this yesterday.”

Remus took the syllabus, handwritten by McGonagall and no doubt copied again and again over the years to make up for the lack of printers in the wizarding world.

He smiled. “Right, thanks Mary.” Peter felt his ears get a little bit hot in discomfort.

“Go fuck yourself.”

Remus kept on smiling, and turned around to go back to the common room. Peter was also planning to go to the common room, but since it would feel like he was following Remus, which would feel awkward, he made his way to the library instead.

Peter was tired of his dorm mates. Before he had tolerated them and they had tolerated him in return, because there was little choice in the matter, but then they brought along Lily and — honestly didn’t they realise they had to ask him before they did those things because he felt himself die a little inside every time they brought her. He liked his privacy.

He didn’t like Lily. 

She was annoying and loud, righteous and... right. About a couple of things. And he hated that, where was Peter’s awareness of the world, where was Peter’s ability to argue and where was Peter’s ability to be free and comfortable and happy — he was jealous, definitely jealous, and he recognised that, but that didn’t change the fact that he didn’t like her.

His roommates were annoying because they kept bringing her and forcing him to think about her, when he was happy just standing in dirty clothes that weren’t put in the wash for two weeks while he jabbed at something on the ground with a small stick like a caveman.

To clarify, that was a joke.

Peter was nearly to the library when he had an epiphany. He span around to go to the kitchens.

He didn’t like his roommates.

Obviously.

They had an agreement to not prank each other, or at least not prank each other very hard considering the whole ‘our friends and families may or may not be possibly taking part in a war or die’ and all that. 

The agreement had been going strong for a while. It was only right that he played around with it a bit. Surely their morals needed to be lifted.

“Ditzy.”

“Yes, Misters Pettigrew?”

“You don’t have any pot, per chance?”

Apparently they did. He decided not to question it.

He aimed for the Gryffindor dormitories.

While it didn’t warrant the best self preservation, it was a good enough prank to make up for it. He stared at his gloves and frowned. He didn’t like using the word prank, it made him feel like he was five. The first time he was five, anyway. When he was five as Peter, he was doing ‘cool adult stuff’ like brooding on his parent’s successive abandonment and his fear of commitment.

It was the second quidditch match of the year, and for the first time in ever, Peter was there to spectate. He planned on Gryffindor winning. To showcase this he wore a red scarf and stared at the pitch with a worrying intensity.

“Pettigrew?”

“Just call me Peter, Lupin.” 

Lupin awkwardly gave him a look that made clear the fact that Lupin would not call him Peter.

Remus sat next to him due to the lack of open seats. Peter shuffled over and buried himself in his scarf. It wasn’t that cold, only a bit chilly, but he liked it because he used his dad’s money for it back in July while he was supposed to be grocery shopping. It was only a small act of defiance, but it felt good either way.

“Didn’t know you liked Quidditch.”

“Oh, you know.” Building an alibi, “The weathers nice.”

“I suppose.” 

They waited patiently for the match to start, and Peter inwardly chanted for it to end quickly. He didn’t like sports, much to his dad’s ire. He picked at his nails, not painted, and watched some people run around on the pitch to organise things.

Lily waved goodbye to her friends and sat on the other side of Remus. “I wonder who’s going to win,” she exclaimed, “I’m half hoping Potter won’t win so that his head won’t inflate even more.”

“You’re going to have quidditch things on your mark for the next two weeks, if he loses.”

“I’ll have ‘quidditch things’ there either way.”

Remus laughed. “That’s true.”

The players walked onto the field, and Peter sat back, warm and prepared for the long haul.

“If you had our sort of mark,” Lily said, “I wonder what your soulmate would have there. Books, probably.”

“Probably.”

Peter snorted.

It’d probably be something like a dung-bomb, or it’d go between pranking items. It amazed him as to how people still thought Remus was a saint; somehow, he’d even gotten the prefect badge! Remus was usually sneaking around as much as his friends, he was just better at hiding it.

“We didn’t ask for your opinion,” Lily muttered.

Peter shrugged. “Didn’t offer it.”

“Of course, and that snort was you laughing at someone on the pitch.”

Someone conveniently fell over.

Peter fidgeted with his scarf, “Yep. Absolutely hilarious.”

“You’re horrible.”

Remus pursed his lips. “Calm down, the match is starting.”

“Fine,” Lily snapped. “But he needs to know that he’s not as great as he thinks he is. He’s almost as bad as Potter.”

“And that ‘almost,’” Peter said, “Is what keeps me sane.” Merlin bless.

“Tell him that he’s not a comedian.”

Remus hummed in acknowledgement, but didn’t say anything.

“Peak maturity, Evans.”

“Tell Peter he’s an annoyance.”

“Tell Evans to suck a mountain of massive —“

“Hello everybody! How is everyone going this fine morning?” The commentator said loudly; his voice boomed across the stadium, “Our match is the long awaited Gryffindor verses Ravenclaw game! Who will win? I’m not sure, but with Gryffindor’s star chaser and Ravenclaw’s fantastic seeker, it’s guaranteed to be a good match.”

The crowd cheered, and Lily pointedly snubbed Peter to join in. She waved a small banner she had hand-drawn, with the words ‘Gryffindor for the win’ written across it. Peter wondered if she had exchanged her potential personality for her bright hair colour in the womb.

‘Gryffindor for the win.’ How exciting Lily, no, really.

“And McElroy goes for the quaffle, oh look he’s dipping what’s he doing — ah, he kissed his girlfriend isn’t that just sweet and also sort of gross, dude you’re in a match could you not? Anyway, McElroy grabs the quaffle, Davies goes for it and oh! Potter comes in from the rear!”

Gryffindor cheered loudly, and Peter noticed Remus sporting goosebumps on his bare legs. Maybe Remus exchanged common sense for brain cells, because he definitely didn’t have both. It wasn’t cold cold, but it was still somewhat cold.

“And he scores! Look at that, two minutes in, that’s got to be a record!”

Peter half-heartedly clapped along with some third years in front of him, and ignored the students practically rioting around the stadium. Someone stomped their feet on his seat, and Peter felt any entertainment die along with the lost comfortable position on the metal bench.

“Black hits the bludger, Torren grabs the quaffle and races for the other side of the pitch and oh wow, Potter’s going for it and — look at that! I think Ravenclaw’s seeker’s seen the snitch!”

He didn’t see the snitch. Peter could tell, the seeker was looking in Peter’s direction and so he was nearly a hundred percent sure he was just looking at a bird.

This was around the time Peter zoned out.

Peter fidgeted with some loose threads in his red scarf, and rubbed his red nose in an effort to fight the cold. 

He looked at someone doing schoolwork in the corner, and thought of the letters that always arrived for the students. Always in massive hoards unless on Easter holidays, always containing at least one ministry sealed one. The ministry letters appeared more and more these days.

There was always one. Peter wondered what he’d do if he got a letter. He knew he probably wouldn’t; his dad was a very isolated muggle in a small town, frankly it was astounding that he happened to live near Lockhart; so the chance of wizards killing him let alone finding his corpse was slim to none.

“And Potter scored!” The commentator cheered, no doubt siding with Gryffindor for the match. The crowd cheered and bellowed out encouragement.

“Davies’ bird soulmark is chasing after the bludger! Is that allowed? Actually, why hasn’t anyone tried that before? Oh wait, McGonagall says they have!” There was a brief pause. “Apparently it resulted badly, which I’m guessing is ‘teacher speak’ for ‘someone tragically died’ — and Davies has the quaffle, he passes to McElroy who passes to Bradman who passes it back to —“

Peter noticed Remus shivering and rolled his eyes. He peeled off his scarf, which he then threw over Remus’ lap. “Give it back after,” he squinted in annoyance. “You’re distracting.”

“I’m very distracting,” Remus said solemnly, but kept it over his legs. He must’ve been very cold if he didn’t even protest. So was Peter, but it was too late to take the scarf back.

Would the original Pettigrew have done that? Probably. Pettigrew worshipped the ground the marauders walked on, forever a rat of a man who’s only purpose in the series was to be subservient. Peter was glad that he wasn’t the same.

(Because he wasn’t. He wasn’t the same.)

The commentator suddenly cackled. “The soulmark got hit in the face! Davies is grabbing his testicles! Did that just transmit the pain? Ouch, that’s gotta hurt. That must be why players don’t do it that often. Oh Davies, by the way I think I should mention that Melissa Hopkirk from... Hufflepuff, was it? Yeah, Hufflepuff has the same soulmark and yes McGonagall I’m sorry please don’t take away the microphone.”

“You’ve found her?” Davies yelled out from the pitch, his voice carrying over. “See me after the match!”

“Stop using the game for personal matters,” McGonagall said sternly into the mic. The Gryffindor commentator turned a bit pink and took back the mic once it was offered back, shyly. Then he started talking again, and any shyness disappeared.

“Good for Davies,” Lily smiled. “I see him in the library sometimes, he’s a nice guy.”

Peter rolled his eyes and sat back again.

The Gryffindor party raged on in the common room, the marauders helpfully distributed alcohol to minors. While that was going on below him, Peter watched from the stairs as the Gryffindor population got slowly and slowly more high.

He ate one of the house-elf weed brownies and felt his shoulders relax. He took out a camera.

The photos were put in the locked away box under his bed.

“Hey. Peter.”

He ruffled his curly hair and ignored a girl who was staring at him. Peter was dead tired.

“Lupin.”

The scarf was shoved onto Peter’s lap, and Peter watched a few students take out books from the library shelves while they whispered about Herbology.

“Ah, right.” He took the scarf and put it neatly into his bag. He nodded to Lupin on the way back to his desk away from the shelves.

Peter turned to his parchment and wrote down a property of tiger’s blood. He hated potions, most days he just wanted to write ‘wet’ down next to properties, because Slughorn didn’t care about anyone but his favourites so what did it even matter?

He’d made eye-contact with the Professor twice during his lifetime, and other than that, that was the only acknowledgment that he knew Peter existed. Peter’s marks were usually just above average.

He noticed light breathing and noticed that Remus had followed him. Peter raised an eyebrow. “What’s up?”

“Thanks.”

“It’s fine. Wear longer pants next time.”

“Right.”

Remus walked away, and Peter wondered why he hadn’t ditched the scarf onto Peter’s bed right after the match three days prior. He shrugged and turned back to his question.

Maybe he could get away with writing ‘moist’ as a property?

...this was probably why Slughorn didn’t like him, wasn’t it?

He walked in on Sirius alone in the room, strumming his guitar. It was because of the childish awe on Sirius’ face as he looked at it, that when Peter walked in, he didn’t try to immediately take it back. He thought of Mary and her own joy, and let him be.

Peter sat down on his bed, and the two boys sat in a comfortable silence.

Sirius played a cord.

“You going for a specific song?” Peter asked, watching a frog hop around his curtain.

Sirius looked surprised that Peter was talking to him.

“Maybe. I reckon rock and roll’s a cool genre.”

“Queen?”

He lit up. “You know Queen?”

Peter looked at him incredulously, “You’d had to live under a rock to not know Queen.”

Sirius rolled onto his ankles and nearly skipped over to Remus’ bed, where he comfortably stretched out and balanced the guitar across his legs.

“Not many people do!” Sirius said, “Mary Mckinnon and Lily know, but they don’t care much about it. How can’t they? Queen is legendary!” He playfully strummed a couple of times, and Peter winced a bit.

The guitar was out of tune, because Peter had a bad habit of fidgeting with the knobs. It was so close to the side of his bed, so when he couldn’t sleep he reached down and fidgeted with the little knobs until he got too tired to continue to do so. It was good his bed was at the edge of the room, because he couldn’t imagine someone looking over at his bed and seeing a pale hand fidgeting with a guitar to try and find the end of it at two am.

“You’re going for ‘Keep Yourself Alive?’”

Sirius grinned and nodded rapidly. “You can tell? I started around twenty minutes ago.”

“I can indeed tell you tried to teach yourself twenty minutes ago,” Peter confirmed.

He scowled. “Right, forgot you were an asshole.”

“Being truthful doesn’t equate to being an asshole.” 

“Is that what you said to the other little kids when you dobbed them in for eating play-dough?”

Peter’s mood soured.

“Shit, I’m so sorry you’re untalented.”

Sirius’ face blanked, and he stood up from Remus’ bed and wandered over to the opposite side of the room, where he sat in dangerous fury.

Peter watched him curiously, and noticed him put his fingers down in odd places in order to get the notes he was playing.

“That’s a hard C,” Peter commented blankly. “You’re going to want to go for a — just move your fingers higher one,” he amended when he noticed the blank look.

“So now you’re trying to help me, Mary?” His voice was stiff, and he didn’t look back at Peter. His olive branch earlier had been rescinded with Peter’s responses, and Sirius was never one to forgive easily, if at all. He burned instead, like a bonfire.

“No,” Peter muttered sarcastically, “You’re not talented enough for that. You couldn’t possibly understand my instructions.” He was joking. Kind of.

“I’m so fucking sorry. Why don’t I throw this guitar at your ugly mug?”

“Why don’t you move your fingers higher one instead?”

Sirius stubbornly kept his fingers in place. 

“Right. Well, whatever.” Peter got flipped off.

Sirius spent the rest of the day playing Queen, and it would have went into the night if Potter hadn’t eventually climbed out of his bed and attempted to smother him.

Peter’s head chimed botched cords for the rest of the week.

Something felt wrong.

His stomach felt sick, and his head busy and his limbs heavy. He wasn’t going to upchuck or curl into a ball and sob for six hours, but he didn’t feel... good.

Peter ignored the conversation from the three beds around him and pulled back his curtains.

“Morning, Pettigrew,” Lily snipped.

He sent her a brief and unenthusiastic wave, which she audibly scoffed at. Nobody else said anything, so Peter slumped off to the bathroom and took a quick shower all the while wondering what was wrong with him.

It wasn’t any anniversary, just some lazy day in March.

He dried off his hair and eyed the nail-polish he kept hidden behind some of the bottles. 

No. He didn’t feel up to trying to do that.

One day.

Peter walked out of the bathroom to an empty dorm.

He had on a simple black shirt and pair of pants. The others had gone off to the common room or wherever they went on weekends. His skin was still slightly red with heat, so he sat back on his bed to cool down and pulled out a book to wake himself up.

His ribs felt itchy so he lifted up his shirt, and yawned. 

The door practically slammed open and Lily rushed in to grab a pink bag left next to one of the broken lamps that nobody had bothered replace.

It was as Peter jumped and turned to look at her with wide-eyes that her eyes trailed towards his bare stomach. He stopped scratching, and the shirt dropped. 

“You.”

His next breath came in shaking, and he felt himself subconsciously move back.

He hadn’t wanted to show his soulmark to anyone. Peter knew his soulmate was dead; it was obvious, there were no other reasons it would pale. He didn’t like to think about it, not because he cared or anything, but because it was private and... well, it was private.

He didn’t like to think about it. Now someone else knew, and would probably bring it up, which he didn’t want. It was easier to pretend it wasn’t there. It barely was, anyway.

Peter’s skin was pale, but his stomach was tinged red because of the heat, so no doubt the edges would have been visible. Maybe that was why he felt so off, but the ugly feeling trailing down his legs and along his arms and up his spine didn’t disappear with Lily’s entrance, so perhaps not. 

“Fuck off,” he quipped. “So what if they’re dead? You already know. It’s none of your business, so don’t bring it up, and butt out!”

“You,” she repeated. “You have no idea, do you? After all this time you thought... is that why you’re so... you?”

“Don’t be so cryptic, I already know they’re dead, why don’t you share with the class?” Peter glared coldly, and rolled onto his feet. If she didn’t leave, he would. He didn’t feel up to dealing with her.

“You know what?” Lily snipped, “You’re such a miserable bastard that I won’t tell you anything. You’ll find out soon enough, it’d be a miracle if you didn’t. Fuck, it’s a miracle you haven’t already!”

“What are you talking about?”

She grabbed her bag and pivoted to the door.

“Oi. Evans.”

“If you want your answers,” she turned her head over her shoulder and angrily stuck out her tongue — the 70’s was an odd time — and spat out a final statement. “Then apologise.”

“Then I guess I’ll never know.”

She slammed the door behind her.

He rubbed his eyes and thought about Lily’s angry words.

(“You have no idea, do you?“)

She knew something about his dead soulmate. Fantastic. Maybe it was her uncle or something, but if that was the case she wouldn’t have expected him to have known.

He could apologise.

It wouldn’t be sincere, though, and he didn’t care if it was or not, he didn’t want to do it. One apology meant she could lord herself as the right one, when she wasn’t.

Peter turned a corner on the fourth floor and nearly walked straight into Remus.

“Oh, Peter,” he said unenthusiastically. “You know where Sirius, James and Lily went?”

“Nah, thought they were with you.”

Remus nodded and was about to step around him when he stopped, turned and walked alongside Peter, much to Peter’s surprise.

“Lily was angry with you earlier,” he said simply.

“Lily hasn’t matured since she was five.”

Remus gave him a look.

“What’d you do? She didn’t tell us anything.”

“You care about gossip?” Peter was genuinely surprised.

“It’s not gossip if it’s limited to your friend group.”

“Ah yes, and I have a scientist at home named Frankenstein who’s currently working on reattaching my testicles.”

“It’s very kind of Frankenstein to do that for you.”

“It is,” Peter said solemnly. He rolled with Remus playing along with surprised ease, “it’d be much nicer of him if he paid rent.”

“Oh, do you pay him?”

“Nah. He doesn’t accept payment of any kind except human souls and joy.”

“That explains you, doesn’t it?” Remus mused.

Peter felt himself laugh, and paused in place in pure surprise. It’d been a long time since he could last remember doing that. His throat ached.

“So that’s what it sounds like when you’re happy,” Remus blinked, “I didn’t think it was possible.”

Peter rolled his eyes and walked forward smoothly as if nothing had happened. 

He looked away and coughed, “If I didn’t pay him then how did he take my joy and my soul?”

“Well this Frankenstein guy didn’t sound like a polite fellow from the very beginning. I assumed he took it.”

“Perhaps I’ll encourage him to visit your house next. You could do with being knocked down a few pegs.”

Remus chuckled darkly, “I’d send him running.”

“I don’t see that as a negative, it’d keep your junk safe if nothing else.”

“Better protect the junk,” he agreed. “It’s always good to —“

Crack.

They both stood side by side before the biggest purple disc Peter had ever seen.

It swirled and crackled loudly, imitative of electricity. The sound of tinkling water and the smell of dust and dampness leaked through, and Peter took a step back.

“What in Merlin’s sagging balls?” Remus took a step back to join him. His eyes were wide with shock.

“It’s a disc,” Peter muttered, uncaring of letting Remus know about it or not. Many students had already seen them pop into existence behind him anyway, “They’ve been following me around for years.”

Remus sent Peter an incredulous look. “Why the hell are you so nonchalant about that? You should have told Dumbledore! We should leave. Quick.”

Peter eyed the swirling depth and inhaled the murky smell, “This is the longest it’s ever been near me.”

“Peter,” he eyed it and tried to pull Peter back, but Peter leaned forward. 

“It’s so weird, huh? What’s up little disc portal thingy?”

“Portal? Stand back, dumbass.” Remus grabbed his sleeve.

Everything felt silent and muffled, and he ignored Remus’ pulling and increasingly panicked tone, and slowly stretched an arm forward.

He reached out and his fingers uncurled until a single finger was an inch away from the disc’s swirly depths.

“Stay back! Peter, don’t you — we have to get Dumbledore!”

“It’s funny,” Peter said lightly. He felt a misplaced sense of calm, and the odd feeling from that morning disappeared. “I’ve never liked it here. From the moment I was born I didn’t belong. If this was a portal... I don’t think I’d mind.”

“Peter!”

Peter touched it, and at once it sucked him in like a vacuum, and a single hand grabbed the back of his shirt — only to be pulled in after him. The last thing he saw was Remus’ face, panicked and angry, in an ocean of purple.

Chapter Text

He woke up cold. 

There was dirt in his ear. His body was splayed across the ground, and he heard wind bellowing above him, which further scattered dirt onto and around his body.

He coughed.

It was eerily silent.

Peter groaned and pulled himself onto his palms, and coughed again due to the grainy feeling at the back of his throat. 

Around him was dark brown dirt with specks of gravel and white sand. Every now and then was a dandelion or a bunch of green and cream grass strands sticking out of the ground.

He crawled to and leaned over a small grassy patch, where he unceremoniously emptied his stomach. Peter wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stared at it immediately after in disgust. 

He looked around himself and slowly used the dirt to rub clean his hand.

Haha. Gross.

Peter slowly looked up, but he heard another groan, and was quickly distracted.

Oh.

Well, shit.

Peter flipped over and felt his heart stutter at the sight of Remus. He was curled up around an arm’s length away.

(—Remus’ face, panicked and angry, in an ocean of purple—)

Peter swallowed, coughed and swallowed again to get away the taste of bile. “Lupin?”

Another groan. 

“...Peter?”

“Lupin! Fuck. Fuck.”

“Where are we?” Remus managed to cough out. His muscled arms raised him up and Peter saw his face, which looked pale and sickly. He, unlike Peter, took the time to raise himself onto his knees. He looked around in distressed awe. “This is definitely not Hogwarts.”

Peter looked up, recognised the large white stones dotting out of the dirt in perfect rows, and felt cold apprehension. “No dice, Dumbledore.”

Remus spun to face him and cool hard rage emanated out of his shaking form. “You fucking bastard,” he hissed. “I told you to get away from that thing. I fucking told you!”

Peter nearly leapt in to defend himself, but came up slack amidst Remus’ anger. He opened his mouth and then closed it again. Remus watched him gape like a fish, but eventually gave up on getting any sort of reply or explanation.

“Where are we?” Remus demanded.

“I don’t know.”

“Peter!”

“I said I don’t know!”

“Well great!”

“I’m sorry okay!” Remus looked unimpressed. Peter fidgeted with the bottom of his shirt. 

The wind buffeted them and a piece of hair fell into Peter’s face. He brushed it away.

Remus fixed his clothes anxiously. Then, on his feet, he paced back and forth across the dry earth. “Well this is just fantastic, isn’t it? We don’t know where we are, we don’t know why or how we’re here — and it’s all your fault.”

“My fault? I don’t know what’s going on either! You think I wanted to be sucked into that portal thing?”

Remus’ voice went up an octave, and he mimicked Peter hysterically. “‘From the moment I was born I didn’t belong, poor me. Wowie if this was a portal, why, I don’t think I’d mind. I’m just going to stick my finger here, whoop-de-do, and oh lookie here, here — we are.’ We’re in a fucking graveyard! Last time I checked, there was no graveyard at Hogwarts!”

“There could be,” Peter mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

“Peter!”

“What?” He asked Remus angrily.

“Stop — just, stop! Okay? You got us into this mess and —“

“No I didn’t!”

Remus stared at him.

Peter clenched his fists and rose to his feet. He looked away and his eyes focused on the graves around them so that he didn’t have to make eye-contact, “well, fine. It’s my fault.” Sort of. Not really.

“Oh you think so?” Remus snapped loudly, “well it’s oh well and dandy now that you’ve realised!”

“Shut up!”

Peter looked at their surroundings. There were graves as far as he could see; large and white. A fair amount were covered in moss and some even had bundles of fresh flowers. The graveyard had a tree in the centre. All in all, the place looked eerily familiar.

Remus’ eyebrows nearly hit his hairline. “‘Shut up.’?”

“Yes. We’re not going to fix anything with you yelling at me.”

There was something slightly off about everything. It was like when he visited different areas or places — it gave off a different vibe, evident in the look and feel of the place. Yet the smell of the graveyard — a mix of wet dirt and musty flowers — was something he recognised. It was something he recognised and yet. Off.

It was hard to explain.

Remus scowled, “I'm not the only one. You know, maybe after you realise how much of a dumbass you are, I’ll stop.”

The smell was... it was home. It was Peter’s home, his neighbourhood. 

And the graveyard, it was the one near his neighbourhood. It had to be. It looked nearly exactly the same, except the tree must have had a growth spurt since the last visit — which was fair, it had been a while since he had visited the graveyard — and there were quite a few new additions.

“Maybe when you stop, you’ll realise that I need to tell you that I recognise this place. I know where we are, and I know how we can get back to school.”

“Oh, do you?” Remus put his hands on his hips.

“Yes! That’s what I said!”

Remus raised his eyebrows, unimpressed, and raised himself to his full height and brushed his clothes off. He finally removed his attention from Peter after seeing his conviction, and looked around. Remus faltered. “You sure?”

“It’s near my house.”

“You couldn’t have mentioned that earlier?”

Peter scowled at him, “like I could have.”

Remus brushed sand out of his hair, rolled his eyes and held out a hand in mock invitation. “Lead the way to our way out of here then, why don’t you, Mary?”

“Our way out is through my house, my floo. I keep some powder under my bed. And don’t call me Mary!”

“After this? No, I don’t think I’ll ever stop calling you Mary.”

“You’re so petty,” Peter muttered. “I swear you’re related to Lily somehow.”

He hummed, but didn’t reply to Peter. Remus gestured ahead, and Peter snubbed him to walk in the opposite direction of where Remus pointed, in the direction of his house. He walked around a few old graves, and spotted a couple of wilted flowers in patches of dirt. The graveyard was large, so it took a long time to reach the footpath that lead into the village.

“Can’t believe I tried to save you,” Remus muttered.

(—panicked and angry—)

“Well it’s not like I planned to drag you in after me. You think I want to be here?”

“You don’t seem that put off.”

“Oh come on! Do I have to say it? I’m not happy to be here, okay?”

Remus gave him a look, as if to say, ‘sure you’re not.’

“I’m not—“

“‘Oh my, I’m going to leap into this fun disc in the air! Oh boy, it came in such short notice, it’s such a shame that I couldn’t pack my trunk and my frog memorabilia that showcases my frog obsession which, when I think about it, I must keep in an attempt to cover up my blatant lack of a personality—‘“

“Stop, I get it! And seriously. You can’t blame me for you being here, it really isn’t my fault you jumped in after me!”

“I didn’t ‘jump in,’ I was pulled!”

“Well I didn’t plan that!”

Remus wasn’t looking at him. They wandered further down the path. “Right.”

Peter walked ahead of him so that he didn’t have to look at Remus’ face. From up ahead, he rolled his eyes.

The landscape, hilly and covered in flora, served as a stark contrast to the mood around them.

Remus spoke up again after a bit. “What was that, anyway? That purple disc thing. Was it a portkey? You called it a portal earlier.”

“I don’t know, but I’m leading towards the idea that it’s a portal,” Peter called behind him. It had the whole ‘swirly round thing’ going for it.

Remus stumbled over a rock and followed after Peter, who surveyed their surroundings with a pensive look on his face.

“You really should be panicking more,” Remus said.

“Well you don’t seem that panicked either. We’ve just been... teleported away. I think. We’ll be alright, I’m sure the teachers will forgive us. It’s not like we’ve planned this.”

Peter eyed the bushes dotting the landscape, and walked around some old man’s house and down onto another branching path that lead up to yet another hilly area where his house was perched in somewhere. 

He followed the familiar path. There were more cracks in the path then what he remembered.

The vibes were off.

They trailed along the path and onto a gravel road.

Peter walked quickly, and just as his house appeared at the edge of his vision, he came to an abrupt stop. Remus nearly collided into him.

“This isn’t right.”

Remus sighed. “Many things aren’t right about this situation.”

“No, that’s not it,” Peter snapped.

“Hey, I’m still focusing on the portal that spat us out into a graveyard near your house, thank you very much. Forgive me, Mary, for not being as cool about all this as you are!”

“No dumbass, that’s not it. You’re right, this situation is both shit and confusing and annoying, but that’s not what I — look. It’s my house — this isn’t right.”

“What’s not right?” Remus asked, “that one’s yours, right? It looks like a normal house to me.”

But it wasn’t normal. 

Maybe it was an illusion — but it couldn’t possibly be an illusion, but maybe it was, but who would bother — and who would know to cast it and for what, it wouldn’t accomplish anything, but maybe his dad... but he wouldn’t.

Sunflowers.

Bright and colourful, long and twisted. Around alcoves, leaning against the walls, tall and flourishing. Peeking around the mailbox, dotting around a window that Peter recognised as his bedroom’s.

Peter had always wondered what the house would have looked like if the sunflowers had never been cut to the ground. 

“No, you don’t get it.” His stomach felt heavy, and as he turned to look behind him, Remus’ eyes widened a bit.

“This isn’t right.”

..

Remus opened his mouth, most likely to make a sarcastic comment, but Peter was already sprinting to the house. 

Peter panicked. 

There was no car, no beat up old truck that his dad adored, just an empty overgrown — with sunflowers, of all things — driveway. In front of the door was a bundle of wilted roses, which Peter ignored in favour of pulling on the door knob, which didn’t budge.

That in itself was strange. His dad never locked the house; he was of the mind that if someone broke in, the person would have nothing to steal. His dad also thought that he could beat intruders up — the idea of acting like ‘chickens’ in his own neighbourhood and locking up or installing security (even if in those days it wasn’t that high tech and tended to amount to ‘tall fence’) seemed barbaric for him. 

Peter believed that that was an awful mentality, but since he didn’t care much for his dad’s wellbeing, so it wasn’t like he had tried to educate him or encourage him to do otherwise.

Natural selection and all that.

Peter breathed heavily and ran around to the back. There was a distant call of, “ever heard of knocking,” but Peter couldn’t hear over the blood rushing to his head. He climbed over the fence, and was nearly sick at the sight of the garden —

(It was so empty. There was no lavender, no anything of the flowers he had planted. The yard was barren and dead. It was almost as if Peter had never existed.)

He pulled on the back door but it stayed stubbornly closed. Peter went to his last resort, “dad!” He yelled, “open up! I’m home!”

Nothing. Nothing.

“Dad? It’s Peter, I’ll — I’ll call the neighbours if you won’t let me in!”

Still no response.

Peter cupped his hands to his face, and ignored the sound of Remus tumbling over the fence to join him. “Dad! Dad? Hey, asshole!”

Distinctly unimpressed, Remus called out to him. “I don’t think he’s here, Peter.” 

“He’s probably out — oh, hah, there’s no car in the driveway. Yeah, he must be out.” 

But something felt... off. It was that same feeling from the graveyard all over again. That same feeling from back at Hogwarts.

Remus looked at him in concern. Peter jogged to the glass window which showcased a clean kitchen, and ignored Remus’ protests and picked up a pebble, which he threw as hard as he could at the window. It didn’t smash. 

“Peter! There are better ways to do this!”

“This is the fastest way.”

“Oh Merlin.”

He grabbed another, and another, and threw and threw and threw and then finally something cracked.

Peter and Remus both winced. Peter didn’t spare the fallen glass a second glance and ran towards the opening.

“What are you... hey! Don’t climb through that! Come back!”

His legs and feet got scratched by the glass that had embedded itself between the kitchen tiles as well as the counters which he had to crawl over in order to reach the floor. He ignored the cuts that quickly formed, and the blood that slowly oozed down his legs.

“Gone,” Peter breathed. He looked around and opened and closed a kitchen cabinet. There was a stark lack of the personal items that his dad often carried around. There were no towels and cutlery, and the few ornaments that remained seemed to be there for the sole purpose of making the space look like a display house. “That asshole left me! That — but the sunflowers, I don’t get it.”

Remus called out for him, but Peter muttered to himself and ignored him. “It’s not like dads the type to put together sunflowers or... or anything for me. Even if he was going to ditch me afterwards. The guy’s an asshole! He wouldn’t have planted them. He just. He just, he took the cutlery and his stuff and then he left. But who planted the sunflowers? And why’d he leave now?—“

“Oi, come back!” Remus called from outside, “I don’t know what’s happening but we could ask door to door and see if we could chance upon a witch or wizard —“

Peter didn’t want to do that, so he gave a quick explanation. “No, there are none. I... This is definitely my house, but my dad is gone and the house has changed. I want to look around for a bit. He’s gone, Remus. My dad is gone.” Oddly enough, he didn’t feel happy about it.

Remus looked at him, aghast through the other side of the smashed glass. “Peter, calm down. You said his car was out, right? He’s probably redecorated and maybe he went to the shops or something. It’s fine, Peter, take... uh, deep breaths.”

“You think I’m not trying that? And of course he hasn’t redecorated! Redecorated!” He scoffed, “he’s the most miserable piece of shit in existence. And if by some chance he did redecorate, no way in the many levels of hell would he plant sunflowers.”

“What’ve you got against — hey, come back!”

Peter didn’t look back at him. “I’ll be here again later, just wait there!”

“Peter, I’m going to curse your ass when you come back I swear to Merlin!”

Peter stumbled down the kitchen hallway around to the living room, where he looked at the odd flowery wallpaper that he certainly never remembered ever having been there before.

The whole house seemed to be covered in new decorative items. 

The walls were docked with handmade bits and pieces that seemed like something an old lady would have, like little dusty canvases showcasing exotic fruit, or cute knitted hats that hung from doorknobs, as well as handmade banners saying things like ‘love your life, live your truth, be you!’ Or even, ‘hate is a strong word.’

He grimaced at the cheerful messages. It was way too cheesy, and nothing like his dad and him had in the house before.

The house was clean, dusty but clean. It looked so different, so — not his.

There was a picture of a very ratty child, which Peter thought was a very ugly stock photo that must have never been replaced. He ignored it and continued down the hallway.

Then there was his dad’s room.

Peter's mouth ran dry. One bed, neutral colours. There was pink in the room, more pink than there was anything else, and his dad hated the colour pink. 

It looked like it belonged to a woman.

It wasn’t right. It wasn’t right! 

He stumbled down the hallway to his room. He faced it with solemnity.

Different. 

Tears built in his eyes at the sight. Out of all of the rooms, his bedroom looked the most changed. Maybe it was because he knew his room better than any of the other rooms in the house. 

The bed was bigger. If he stretched out, he would fit. It was neatly made in red and navy bedsheets that he hadn’t had before. Another picture of the ratty baby stayed on the side table, and a ruffled looking woman cradled him in her arms. But the carpet was his, and the photos on the walls were his — of cars, and a Gryffindor scarf, but no frog stickers. The trunk at the end of the bed was his, and Peter opened it but found it empty. 

It was his room, but not. It had bits and pieces of him in it, but you really had to squint to see them. The room had the same gritty old carpet that his dad had picked out yonks ago, it had the same work desk that was shoved into the corner, and it had the same trunk and painted ceiling and —

It wasn’t as if he had never existed.

No, it was as if he had been replaced. 

And if he were to consider the whole house, it was as if his parents had been replaced. 

As if his family had never lived there. 

But why was the room so much like his? Why did it hold an imprint of him?

He didn’t understand.

“This isn’t mine,” he whispered. “This isn’t mine.”

He fell to his knees, and the blood that had not yet dried sank down his legs into the carpet. He looked down at it in disgust. Peter then glanced up and took in the room with equal disgust.

The room obviously belonged to someone well taken care of. Loved. It wasn’t his. 

His room. The original one, it had been his own private space. A place that proved that he existed. That he had gone through hardship. That he had bitten and clawed his way to the top. That, despite all the odds stacked against him, he continued to exist. But now...

“Peter.”

Tears fell down his face in a worryingly steady stream. 

A hand nervously rested on his shoulder.

His room had been childish and small, a show of the neglect thrust upon him day by day. This was a room of someone who had been cared for, spoilt even, someone who should have been him, but wasn’t.

It was wrong. Everything was wrong and he just didn’t get it, why was this happening to him? Did he deserve it? Fuck everything! He didn’t deserve shit, why was everything going wrong —

“Peter.”

Someone grabbed his hand and rested it against their chest. 

“Breathe along with me, got that? In, out. In...hold, out.”

Peter’s breath stuttered among sobs, and he did his best to calm himself. In, out. In, out.

“In, out.”

In, out. In and out.

“Can you see my finger?” He could. “When it goes towards me, breathe out, when it goes sideways, hold your breath, and when it goes towards you, breathe in. Follow along with me.”

Peter followed.

“That’s if, you’ve got it. In, out. Everything’s going to be alright.”

He didn’t calm down immediately. 

It took a long while, he didn’t know how long, until he finally relaxed enough for Remus to remove his hand.

He had lived an awful childhood, and he could acknowledge that. He had to fight to eat, sometimes it was like he fought for the right to even exist. Peter lived in a world that didn’t want him, in a world that seemed to scream at him whenever he took a step to self-empowerment. 

And that had shown in his room. It had shown in his street, in his gardens — his escape from reality, even if that idea sounded dramatic and weird. It had shown in how he dressed, and how he spoke, and how he held himself. It showed in his aesthetic.

His upbringing was awful—

It was something he couldn’t escape. So of course it left it’s mark on him. So his  room, there, was nothing more than a falsity. It was too clean, it was too put together and themed. It was nothing like him. In a way, it was like it was telling him that all of his struggles had been for nothing.

After all, if he had lived and yet nothing remained from that, then had he truly lived?

“I’d offer you water, but the kitchen is full of glass. I smashed the back door off its hinges to get in, by the way. Sorry if you liked that door.”

Peter swallowed. “That’s alright. And I can drink from the bathroom tap. I know where it is. I mean, I probably do, this place is... this place is different from what I remember.”

“The bathroom tap? That’s nasty,” Remus joked. 

“I think it’ll be fine.” He rubbed his nose. “It’s probably clean. After all, I... I don’t think anyone has lived here for a long time.”

..

They sat next to each other quietly against the front door of the house, the wilted flowers that had previously leaned against the door were thrust aside onto the pavement.

Remus kindly remained silent so that Peter could brood.

They leaned right near a cluster of sunflowers. Remus watched Peter fidget with a few stray petals. “Why do you think that no ones lived here for a long time?” Remus carefully prodded.

“The dust. The wallpaper, the flowers — everything’s changed. Remus, I really don’t think that... I don’t think that we’re... well.” He swallowed. The words just didn’t seem to appear. Remus would think he was crazy. 

“What don’t you think?” He asked carefully.

Peter took a deep breath and spat what he has thought out in a single breath — “I think we’re in the future or the past or something.”

“What?” Remus deadpanned. “How’d you come up with that conclusion?”

“It adds up, okay? I think we’re in the future! The tree in the graveyard Remus, it’s bigger than what I remember, and there’s more graves and the house... it’s changed. Like it has different owners or something. It’s a lot different from what I remember. It’s so different that it looks like I never lived there in the first place!”

“Peter, you’re being ridiculous.”

“No, you don’t understand! Let me ex—“

“Neither do you!”

“Well no, but I have a theory, so you might as well hear me out. Mum planted these sunflowers before she died. Well not really, they came with the house and mum just cared for them but same thing.” 

“That’s not the same—“

“Not important. I loved them, and she’d always water them, sometimes she’d carry me along with her in her arms and she’d sing and dance and I’d try to dance too. I wasn’t very good at it—“

“Get to the point.”

“Right, sorry. She was... good. A good mum. But one day, there was a fire and then. She wasn’t there. So I was left to my dad, and dad didn’t like sunflowers, so I woke up one day and they were all over the ground. Dead, cut down. Lupin, dad hates flowers. There’s no way he planted these while we were at school. Hell, there’s no way they’d grow this much in under a year.”

The wind blowed, and handmade wind chimes tittered and clicked in the breeze. Peter’s eyes closed, and he inhaled the scent of the sunflowers around him.

Making charms, giggling, dancing and listening to old music. Showing him certain ways to twirl his body, and him raising eyebrows but attempting to twist around and ending up ass over tits on the ground while mum laughed in fond joy.

Photo after photo, taken when he wasn’t looking, all crammed into a small book, then crammed into the attic. Forgotten, neglected, covered in dust.

Remus didn’t look like he wanted to believe him. “So that immediately means we’re... maybe —“

“Lupin, so much has changed! It makes sense!”

Remus took a deep breath, and then let it out. “Peter.”

“Lupin.”

“Peter!”

Remus steadily placed his head in his hands.

Birds chirped in the distance.

In the uneasy silence, Remus moved to help Peter pick out glass from the underside of his shoes. They didn’t look at each other. Peter yanked out a particularly big piece, and let out a small cry when he glimpsed his foot from where the shard had just been. Blood covered his fingers, so he pulled off the shoe and used his sock to clumsily mop up some of the blood on both his foot and his legs.

Remus took one look at what Peter was doing and vanished inside, and returned minutes later with fabric which Peter recognised as having been previously used for the curtains.  It wasn’t perfect, but it was better than his sock. Together they bound up his foot.

Peter looked towards the graveyard. “You know, if mum had lived, it’d be just like this, I’d imagine.”

Remus hummed.

“There’d still be the sunflowers in the front yard, and the wallpaper would change — just like this one, and I bet that we’d have more bits and bobs and uh, girly things around. It’d be just like...” Peter slowly trailed off, and comprehension dawned in his face.

“Like this?” Remus drawled.

“Lupin,” Peter whispered. “Exactly like this.”

“Oh Merlin. Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Exactly like this! I think, I think...”

Remus sighed loudly. “Oh come on, you’ve already told me that the portal thing apparently dropped us into the past or the future. You have nothing to lose here. Go ahead, tell me what you think now.”

“Remus, I don’t think the portal dropped us into the future.”

“Oh thank—“

“The portal dropped us into a world where my mum never died!”

All hope shattered.

“Peter. If we’re in a different world, I don’t think it’d be focused and based around just the idea of just your mum having never died.”

“Oi. It was my portal, wasn’t it? And I think it’s also a different world that’s currently in what we’d call the future! Because, you know. More graves and the tree is bigger and — yeah.”

Remus looked very unimpressed. He stared. “You’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?”

“I know. It sounds ridiculous but... well, there’s one way to find out if I’m correct!”

Peter bit his lip and rose to his feet. He extended a hand and pulled Remus up, and then pulled him along the dusty front driveway in the direction of the graveyard. He hopped for a couple of seconds before Remus grudgingly put Peter’s hand over his shoulders for support.

Chapter Text

They stood side by side in stunned silence.

“You know,” Peter said, “so far, this place is shit. I never thought I’d get one of those.”

Remus stared at it too. “No, I’m sure you will. Would have. I don’t know,” he said in a slightly flabbergasted monotone. “You talking about how your dads a dick and therefore probably wouldn’t dig one for you? Because I’m sure he would. Maybe.”

“Maybe... the people in the village dug it for me,” Peter guessed. “Maybe they’ve been watering the sunflowers too. I really ought to be nicer to them when we... get back.”

‘Get back.’ The simple phrase implied a lot of things.

“To see your own grave... kind of morbid, isn’t it?” Remus rolled his eyes, “well I can tell that your theory of your mum still being alive is wrong. Sorry ‘bout that. Your mums dead, looks like your dads dead, and hey, you are too. This is kind of shitty, I reckon.”

Peter’s grave stood before them.

It was large. Larger than he deserved, larger than what anyone would have usually had for a grave. It towered over the graves of his parents, which stood on either side of it.

He had initially tried to find his mum’s grave, and had barely glimpses the familiar last name before both of them had been instantly distracted by the much larger one next to it. 

Well, he knew why his dad wasn’t home now. 

Peter Pettigrew, the gravestone read.

Gone at the hands of a friend,

May his spirit forever prosper.

It was covered from head to toe in flowers and tokens. It shone in the evening sun.

“Gotta say,” Remus said lowly. “Didn’t know I was talking to a dead guy.”

“Didn’t know I was dead.”

“I like the ivy growing up the side, it’s very fetching. Especially with the crack near the bottom.”

Peter nodded solemnly, “it is pretty nice, isn’t it?”

He felt too tired and drawn out to really react to it. He didn’t know how he was apparently dead, but the grave proved Peter’s theory at least. They weren’t in the same world as before, and they were potentially in the future — and sure, it didn’t prove his theory to the dot — it wasn’t a different world where the only changed variable was his mum’s death, because she was dead and apparently according to the date on the grave had just died later, but it was a changed world nonetheless.

It was a changed world where many variables had changed, and they had the proof right in front of them.

Peter knew a few things about where the portal had spat them.

Number one. He was in a reality where his mum was dead. The fact was also true in the old one, but it was a fact worth noting. She had just died later, and he’d double check around when later when he could remove his eyes from his own grave.

Number two, his dad was dead. 

Three. Peter was dead.

Four, the small village seemed to have aged.

Five. In this reality, apparently his dad hadn’t destroyed the sunflowers. This probably meant that he was either nicer or that Peter’s mum had stuck up for him.

Six. Peter himself had been influenced by his mum living longer. This was a guess, but it did seem logical on some levels. Through having a mum, this Peter had had a better upbringing, and yet developed an aversion to gardening. 

There were many more variables, but those were the most important ones on his mind.

Peter looked down at the grave and sighed.

Well, bye other Peter, he thought. You spoilt loon.

Spoiled by his parents, who — he checked the gravestone, died later, more specifically his dad in 1979 and his mum ten years after, in 1989.

He felt like he was missing something, but he was too tired and groggy to tell. 

Remus flipped around to him, “you know what? You’re being ridiculous, there’s no way we’re in another world.” In response, Peter groaned.

“You’re kidding. We have to be,” Peter said. “This proves it. Do you also need a big neon sign saying it?”

“It just doesn’t make sense, it wouldn’t happen to us for no reason, it’s not like we’ve done any weird spells or anything recently. Have you?” Peter shook his head. “See, no. We’re not in another world, Peter. That’s...”

“We jumped through a portal, it doesn’t matter if we did a spell or not. Fact of the matter is, we’re here. Also,” he gestured down to the grave. “Last time I checked, I wasn’t dead!”

Remus shook his head, “no, we didn’t jump, you went through it and you pulled me along.”

“We’re back to this? Lupin! No, you tried to save me and in the process got dragged in too. It’s not my fault you came in too, okay? It was your decision.”

“That’s for the reminder,” he spat. Peter rolled his eyes.

Something wasn’t right. There was an obvious clue, something obvious. He looked around, but couldn’t find it. The size of the tree in the centre of the graveyard, now that he looked closer, hinted at the fact that they were specifically around... maybe fifteen to twenty years in the future, but that was about it. He wasn’t sure about that however, it wasn’t like he was an expert on trees.

“You... you did this,” Remus said. “It’s because of you that we’re here!” He stormed over to the grave and picked up one of the red flowers. “If you hadn’t went through that portal portkey thing, we’d be safe at Hogwarts!”

“I’m sorry, okay, but we can’t do anything about that now!”

Remus bit his lip and didn’t look at him. “I expected to be reading a book somewhere by this time,” he mumbled. “Maybe I’d be eating dinner. But nope, here I am, on Peter bloody Pettigrew’s gravestone!” 

He turned his attention back to Peter and sarcastically spat out, “at least it’s a good one, it’s polished and everything, it’s got flowers and it’s got little notes. Oh look, this one says ‘I aspire to be like you.’ That’s a terrible aspiration, really. It also looks like a dogs been here recently,” Remus pointed at a few tracks in the dirt nearby. “It’s more than you deserve, I reckon. You’re an ass. I wonder if you did something cool before you kicked it. Dunno what, though.”

“Fair, I guess. I didn’t think in any reality I’d ever be missed this much... wait, dog prints.”

“What about them?”

“Recent.”

Recognition dawned. He buried his face in his hands. His shoulders lightly shook.

Fuck.

Haha. Fuck!

“Change of plans,” Peter said, his voice muffled.

Dog prints, recent ones, his grave, ‘Gone at the hands of a friend.’ The unfamiliar woman in the well cared for house.

His eyes zapped towards one of the graves next to his gravestone.

Delaney Pettigrew.

That. Wasn’t his fucking mum.

Sunflowers, in the garden, the pictures of the ratty child he saw on the mantle and subsequently ignored in favour of rushing to his dad’s room—

No. It wasn’t his dad’s room.

It was the room of that unfamiliar woman. It was Delaney’s.

It was just like how the kitchen wasn’t the same, and how his room wasn’t the same, and how the wallpaper wasn’t the same. Everything was different. It was because his mum had never lived there, Delaney Pettigrew and her family had. Delaney and Peter’s dad, and, well, Peter Pettigrew. The other Peter Pettigrew.

“I think... I think I know where we are, I think I know exactly where we are,” Peter muttered. “You’re not going to like this.” He cupped his face.

..

“What do you mean you know where we are? You keep changing your mind,” Remus hissed as Peter dragged him through the graveyard and back to his house. He walked on his injury without a care in the world. “Did you fucking plan this? Did you put that — that portal thing there, and purposefully pull me in?”

“I always keep a jar of floo powder under my bed,” Peter said. “I didn’t check because I was distracted, but it should be here in this world. Reality, whatever. Hopefully. Honestly, even if I don’t have it, I can just search around the fireplace, I think Del — she, was a witch.” Peter had put the jar under his bed because of his dad, originally. Since he had the same dad in this reality — he had double checked the gravestone — he was guessing that this Peter had done the same.

“Peter, for Merlin’s sake, answer me. Explain, don’t just ignore me!”

“I can’t really count on her, though. My supply was in case of emergencies, which I think this qualifies for. We can go to Diagon Alley, or Knockturn, I’ve heard of this place called Souregnad, it sells fake IDs, which we can probably get a hand on if we use a strong compulsion charm because I sure as hell don’t have money.”

“What do you mean ‘fake IDs?’” Remus was pulled after Peter by his sleeve as he started to run to the house, “Souregnad? We don’t need those — where are we, Peter?”

“My village,” he said sarcastically, “a place of love and dreams and hope. The locals here tend to be small and blue, they wear identical white hats—“ the back of his shirt was yanked, and Peter stumbled backwards onto his butt.

Remus looked down at him. “Calm down,” he hissed. “Calm down, and explain. Listen here, so you say know where and when we are. Explain, what’s your next theory? I’m not going to just wander along after you, okay? I barely even know you!”

“I think us being stranded in a new reality or world or whatever together eliminates the need for qualifications in knowing each other well.”

“Shut up, Peter. Don’t brush this off. I’m confused, okay? I don’t — I don’t know what’s going on, and you brought us here. You say you know. So it’s your... duty. Obligation. To fill me in. Okay? Okay.” Remus tugged his sleeve free and squatted next to Peter on the ground. 

Peter swallowed. His hands dug into the soil, and he felt a bug lazily crawl over his nails. Remus didn’t understand, he didn’t understand and — they weren’t supposed to be here! They didn’t have the time to carefully go over things. 

They weren’t supposed to be here! 

And he didn’t want to explain why.

Hell, he didn’t want to explain how he knew.

Peter had always been misplaced; he wasn’t supposed to have become Peter. He should have stayed as Mary, the sweet unassuming girl who hated tomatoes and loved looking at pictures of pretty old buildings while she daydreamed in class. 

But he wasn’t Mary.

He was Peter. Peter, who was doomed to be shot down by the hands of his ex best friends. No, by his own hand, because that was how pathetic he was. He had escaped, narrowly escaped, only to come to a time where Pettigrew had not.

The other Pettigrew, had not.

(That’s right. That’s where they were. They were there — there! That reality, that — that place, that place where Peter — Mary-Peter, had never existed. That grave, earlier. It didn’t have his mother’s name on it. It was some other woman’s. That wasn’t his mother, that wasn’t his. But that grave with Peter’s name on it. There was no mistake, that was the original’s. The original Pettigrew’s. The dog prints proved it. It also told where in the timeline they were. 

When Peter had reached out, with the knowledge he never belonged, the portal had taken him away to a place where he never would.)

Perhaps he was being stupid, and the dog prints belonged to a different dog. That made sense but — instead of believing that, he listened to his gut instead.

Peter clenched a handful of dirt.

He wasn’t alone, however. Remus grabbed onto him, so he wasn’t alone. He should have been glad, happy to have company, but he wasn’t. He only felt dread, cooling dread. Peter wanted the purple disc back, he wanted to jump through and pull Remus in after, because while Peter didn’t want the reality he was born in, this one — the Harry fucking Potter universe and timeline — wasn’t better!

Remus didn’t understand. He wouldn’t understand. They didn’t belong, they didn’t belong, they didn’t fucking belong.

Peter didn’t want to explain. 

(If he explained, he’d be asked how he knew the things he knew. And if Remus asked that...)

He didn’t want to bring up Mary, because Mary was innocent and pure and not one to be scorned in conversation. Not one to be brought up and talked about, because any ideas or concepts he mentioned were generally open to criticism, and of all things, Peter didn’t want to accept criticism on her. 

Not when she was the good version of him, not when she was everything he was not.

So, he didn’t mention her. He lied, because he had always been a good liar.

(Peter was the one who was corrupt, not Mary. Peter could corrupt himself more, it didn’t matter. As long as he had Mary, as long as he could claim he used to be her, that he had used to be good—)

“I had odd dreams,” he bullshitted suddenly, while steadfastly looking into the distance. “Sometimes they come true. I’ve dreamed of this place, this... alternate dimension, this potential future, a long, long time ago. I’ve spent my entire life trying to avoid it. The reason I’m avoiding it, because it can be avoided is because... it’s because. For fucks sake just trust me Lupin, we don’t belong here. We can’t be here, we need to find a way back.”

“You’ve got to be smoking something to think I’d just believe you like that. I can tell you’re lying. You said you knew where we were, and I saw that that was the truth. I asked for an explanation, many times actually, did I really need to specify that I wanted a truthfulexplanation too?” Remus scoffed. “You really think I’d believe this ‘potential future’ rubbish? I bet your house is always like this, and you’re just making fun of me. In fact, I know you’re making fun of me! The — the portal thing, it’s a joke you pulled on me, isn’t it? Explain Peter!”

“I did explain!” Peter hissed, “and do you really think I’m fucking with you? The grave back there has my name, the dates that are there are way beyond the date we left — didn’t you see that, on the way back? There are new ones since I last saw them, there are new ones past our graduation year — I’m dead, apparently, and obviously I’m not dead and, and, and for fucks sake, just trust me! I’m shit at magic, this isn’t an elaborate joke!”

Remus’ fists clenched. “I don’t want to trust you. I know you. I know I shouldn’t. I have no reason to.”

“You have to!”

“I don't — no. No! I’m not trusting someone who I know is lying.”

Peter scrambled to his feet and stared him down, which was awfully unsuccessful due to the fact Remus was a fair few centimetres taller than him.

“Do you have a choice? Here, say you’re right, say I am fucking with you. Say this is just some village that happens to have my gravestone, maybe it’s an ancestor with the same name, maybe it tells the future — whatever, if that’s the case, what are you going to do now?”

“Knock on doors,” he said stiffly, “and see if I can find any witches or wizards. Find our way back to Hogwarts, where we would still be if it wasn’t for you, by the way!”

“We are the only non-muggles in our current vicinity. The closest ones are a fair way away, I reckon we’d either need a car or a hell of a lot of patience to find them.”

“Do you,” Remus grit his teeth, and his shoulders rose to cradle his head, “know what you’re saying? When you say that we’re in a new future? Reality? One that you know everything about? It’s one thing to say we’re in a different reality, Peter, or a different timeline or... or, or... I, but it’s — it’s another thing to say you know about everything that’s going to happen here. Especially because of some dreams from long ago.”

Peter scowled, “I do know what I’m saying. What, you think I welcomed the possibility as soon as the hat dropped? Fuck no! I’m telling you, I know where we are, I know much more than you could ever imagine —“

“You know what? I don’t believe you, but still, say you’re right. Say this is a different reality that you’ve pulled me into that you’ve dreamed about. Do you know how to get back? Right, so you might have floo powder, great. But do you know how we’d get back to our world? Our reality?”

He froze. “No.”

“We were at Hogwarts around an hour or two ago. I don’t understand how so much has changed. It can’t have from just that portal... and...”

(There was a well in Australia. It was chipped and covered in pretty purple painted designs, old and grey. It was at the back of Mary’s house. Mary had loved it, and then one day she had gotten too close and stepped too far —)

Remus growled, and the hair on the back of Peter’s neck raised. It sent shivers down his spine, “and you don’t know anything that matters at this point in time, do you? We’re far away, you say, we’re not home, you say. Alright, fine! But you don’t know anything important, about what we should do now, so...”

“Not important? I know enough!” Did that mean that Remus was starting to believe him?

“No you don’t,” Remus spat, “you’re trying to act like you know more than I do, aren’t you? I still bet you’re playing a joke on me. There’s no fucking way you know everything about this place. What’s to say we’re in a different place from what you’ve dreamed up entirely? Well listen here, Mary, this isn’t funny. You’re not smart. You know enough, huh? Then get us back home, okay?”

Peter swallowed. Remus obviously had the impression that Peter had created the purple disc portal thing in front of them, purposefully pulled Remus in, threw them both into a graveyard near Peter’s house — he thought it was all planned. Maybe Remus knew that he was being ridiculous, Peter believed that might be the case.

Remus was grasping at straws, and while Peter couldn’t get mad at him for that... he was mad at him anyway. It just wasn’t the time.

“Listen here, Lupin! We’re in an potential fucked up future, and you should just fucking deal with it!” He yelled up at him. 

“No we’re not, we’re in some, we’re in some weird section of the hills surrounding Hogwarts which you’ve... you’ve enchanted to look different —“

“You’re being ridiculous!”

“Shut up!”

“Lupin,” Peter hissed suddenly. “Face reality, okay? You said you can read me, you said you can tell when I’m lying. Look at me.”

Remus grit his teeth. “I’m looking.”

“We’re not at Hogwarts,” Peter said slowly, mockingly. “I’m not pulling a joke on you. We’re in a graveyard near my house, but not really my house, and we’re two or so decades in the future in a reality where, according to the grave earlier, I died twelve years ago. We’re in a potential future that I’ve been trying to avoid for over a decade. I never said that I knew ‘everything.’ I just know enough to know that we shouldn’t be here. I know more than you do, so you should trust me. Deal with it.”

Clarity seemed to dawn in him, but he still looked angry. Remus drew up to his fully height, “I can’t fucking deal with it. Just because you believe the things you say doesn’t mean the things you say are true!”

“Well you should deal with it! And it is true!”

“I won’t — if you’re right. If you’re, fucking, right. If you’re... then that means we really are in the future, and my friends are all grown up, maybe my parents are dead, maybe —“

“Oh shit, sucks for you! Guess what, this isn’t our dimension so no one here is your friend. No one here is your parent, no one knows you exist except for me. If you want to get back, you’ll have to trust me, because you don’t have any other choice in the matter.”

“Oh, and you know better than me? Your fucking ‘dreams’ told you what to do here? And oh, don’t forget, ‘Sucks for me,’ you said. Well no shit! No wonder you seem so.. relaxed—“

Apparently breaking down in his house was ‘relaxed.’

“—I bet you’re happy to be here, I bet you’re happy that you can ‘predict’ what’s going to happen here with reference to your fancy fucking dreams, because after all, back home, it’s not like anyone ever liked you!”

Peter halted.

Remus stared him down, and continued on with a lowered voice. “Do you really want to go back home?”

He stared at the ground and let his hair fall over his forehead. He looked away. “Fine. You’re right,” Peter said. “You’re right, no one ever liked me. But... that’s not really important, and —“

Remus scoffed. “Oh quit it, I’m not going to feel sorry for you. The fact that you don’t have friends — you’re already aware of it. You brought it on yourself.”

“I had to,” he said. “If I didn’t, our world would be like this one!”

“I don’t get what’s so bad about this world, according to you. What did you fear about it? Did you fear that you’d be dead? Did your dreams tell you about that?” Remus asked, sour. “You didn’t make friends because... you’d die? Seems like a shitty life, if I were you I’d make any degree of happiness last.”

“Did you even read that bloody gravestone? ‘—gone at the hands of a friend, may his spirit forever prosper—‘“

It was like a glass of cool water poured itself Remus’ face. His shoulders slumped.

“You were... No, no. If you were in our dorm and didn’t know about this, you would definitely have befriended us. You wanted to avoid that, because of — that — which was why you didn’t like us. But we wouldn’t have done that, we... oh Merlin, this is why you’re an asshole.

“But we wouldn’t do that! I know Sirius and James, I know me, we would never have betrayed you! This doesn’t make sense! Peter, for Merlin’s sake just... explain. Fully, in detail. I’ll trust you for this okay?”

“You believe me, then? That we’re in a potential future that I know a fuck-load about? That I’m not pulling your leg?”

Remus swallowed. “I do.” It sounded like an old man stating his final words.

Peter didn’t want to explain. He didn’t want to, he didn’t want to, he didn’t want to, he didn’t want to.

“I don’t —“

“I’m sorry, Peter,” Remus said suddenly. “I shouldn’t have gotten angry at you. And some of the things I said was... wrong to say. It’s not my place. Just, please. Tell me.”

Peter continued to stare at the ground. His breathing went slow, and his pulse heightened. “No.”

Remus tiredly frowned. “No? Why not, if you know what happened, then why don’t you explain that for me? I’m telling you that I’ll listen. I believe you.”

“I said no in response to something you said earlier, because you got it wrong. I’m not and wasn’t an asshole because I feared that you’d betray me—”

“—lie—“ 

“Okay fine. New angle. Lupin, to put it simply... well, so you’ve seen my gravestone. That’s oh well and dandy, but the thing is, in this potential future, I’m not dead.” He stared at his feet.

“Then why do you have a gravestone?” Remus drew out patiently. 

“I’m not dead, but I have a grave here, because in this reality I’m a liar. I have this grave because I faked my death. Why did I fake my death? Lupin, it’s because I was scared. After all, I wasn’t the one who was betrayed.” Peter finally looked up, his face hard and stony, “you were.”

Chapter Text

“You son of a bitch.”

Peter winced.

“You — you son of a bitch!” 

The next thing Peter knew, he was clenched in a ball and cradling his cheek. Remus looked down at him, nostrils flared, fists clenched.

He had one hell of a right hook, unfortunately. 

It hurt like like hell.

“Oh fantastic,” Remus said coldly. “You fucking — you dick. Of course you did. That does sound like you, doesn’t it Peter? I should have guessed!”

Remus clenched and unclenched his fists. “I should have fucking — fuck! You — fucking — I should have guessed that you — I don’t even know what to say. You dick. You fucking dick.”

Remus groaned, and then growled and put both of his hands onto his head. He clutched his hair so hard that all blood left his fingers. He fell into a squat. “Fucker,” he muttered. “Convoluted motherfucker.”

“Listen,” Peter said slowly. He licked his lips and looked away, and Remus turned to stare at him, looking distinctly unimpressed. “You’re being unreasonable.”

“I’m being unreasonable?” Remus interrupted, “don’t tell me that — you betrayed us.”

“You don’t even know what the ‘betrayal’ was!” Peter gave up his pseudo composure and shouted back at him. “So calm down, okay!”

He clenched and unclenched his fists. 

“Okay,” Peter continued after a while when it looked like he was calm enough to hear him out. “Like I said, I know about this reality and in this one, I happened to betray you and your friends.”

“Oh, you just happened to, huh?”

He ignored him. “And, yeah I did that, and it resulted in James and Lily dying and also —“ Peter narrowly avoided getting another punch to the jaw, and he scrambled back. Dirt covered his hands, and he let out a harsh wheeze when Remus’ foot landed itself onto his torso and held him in place with sharp pressure.

“You dick!” Remus hissed. He buried his hand into his pants and withdrew his wand, which he pointed down at Peter’s face.

“Let me continue,” Peter stammered out between harsh breaths. 

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t just... just kill you now! We’ve been nothing but, but reasonable with you at school and — and you, you... I can’t believe you. I can’t believe that in any reality you’d... You’re sick. You know, I was starting to think you weren’t actually that bad, but obviously I was wrong.”

“Let me finish!”

Remus’ facial expression didn’t change. He stayed in place, and Peter harshly breathed in the dirt.

There was a slow silence among panting.

“Fine.” Remus said eventually. “Continue.”

Peter eyed a thin chain that went around Remus’ neck, and then his shoe, and Remus lifted it up ever so slightly so that Peter could breathe. “I — listen, Lupin. I’m being truthful, you know, so you’ll have to hear me out, okay?”

Remus’ expression was still unchanging. He said nothing, and the silence became uncomfortable.

“Peter Pettigrew betrayed you in this reality. I — But me, me... I didn’t betray you.” At that, Remus’ mouth opened slightly so Peter forced out his next words before he could say anything, “no, listen! I didn’t betray you, okay, so don’t blame me for crimes that I didn’t commit! I knew about this world, okay? I knew about everything — well not everything, enough — and so I didn’t betray you and, and I won’t!”

Remus’ wand didn’t waver, and so Peter searched around in his head for something to say.

“You have no right to be, to be angry at me!” He stammered, “here’s what happened in this reality, okay? Listen. Pettigrew, here, was your friend, that’s right, he befriended you and Sirius and James and they were close and then one day James and Lily were in danger and Pettigrew was threatened by the Dark Lord so he thought he had no choice so he betrayed their location —“

“You’re not making anything better for yourself.”

Peter swallowed harshly, “and they... and they died, and so yeah, it was my fault. He did it, it was his — my — his fault. And then, and then he faked his death so he wouldn’t be followed and... But here’s the thing, Lupin. I didn’t do it! I didn’t, me, me I didn’t do it. Peter Pettigrew did it, the other one did it, not me. And I don’t care what you say, I’m not him. I’m not him, okay? I will never be him. When I found out what happened here, I did everything I could to not become him!

“I’m not him. I’m not. I’m Peter, but not that Peter. And I’ve spent my entire life telling myself I’m not him, so I’m standing up for myself here and telling you that the moment you blame me for his actions, knowing this, I’m leaving you here to figure everything out —“ the foot dug into his torso, and Peter scowled. It didn’t hurt, but it was so — ugh. He felt his eyes tear up a little bit, and he glared up to meet Remus’ eyes.

Peter tried another angle. “You know what? I’m gonna tell you what I did the moment I found out about this reality, this, this possibility. The possibility of the betrayal and... You’re not dumb, Lupin. Surely you’ve noticed that in our world, I didn’t befriend you. Hell, I couldn’t give less of a,” he coughed, “damn about you people. I stayed away, on purpose, even if it meant that I was fucking alone all the time.

“Even if it was, if it was hard — it wasn’t, I’m fine on my own — I stayed away so that the possibility of me betraying you, well, it’s not even a possibility anymore. You guys don’t trust me, and I knew that you’d never give me the power of your locations if you were ever wanted. I did it for your good, I sacrificed having friends so that you could all —“

“Shut up.”

“What?”

“Shut up.”

Peter swallowed.

“Don’t pretend that the reason you didn’t befriend us was because you wanted to ‘save us.’ If that was the reason, you would’ve just not fucking betrayed us.” Remus wand started to shake, “no, be truthful. The reason you didn’t befriend us was because you wanted to save yourself.”

Peter shuddered and looked away.

Remus stared down at him. “Everything all leads back to yourself. You knew that if you befriended us, then you’d be threatened, right? You knew that you’d have to either be threatened or have to fake your death or you’d have to be killed by You-Know-Who. You didn’t do anything to help or protect us. You did it to save yourself — that’s all you’ve ever cared about.”

It was like his fight with Lily, but much worse. He didn’t know what to do, or what to say. He knew he couldn’t stay silent, but when he searched for words there was just nothing to pick to say. It was eerily blank, and eerily quiet. Some part of his mind chanted that Remus was wrong, that Peter was right, and to find and to defend himself.

But the rest of his head was quiet and suggested nothing for him to say.

“You’re wrong,” Peter whispered eventually.

Remus raised an eyebrow.

Peter took a deep breath and shoved off Remus’ foot. He inched back and tried to recover his breathing and tried to calm his mind.

Remus looked down his nose at him. He looked ready to walk away.

Somehow Peter couldn’t find himself caring about the possibility. “I hate you all,” he murmured.

“Oh?”

“I do. I can’t do anything right, can I? It’s like people have this preconceived reason to hate me. It’s like when Sirius in first year instantly decided that he didn’t like me when no one else seemed to care as much. He said I was bad, and I spent... so much, so much time just going through what I am and who I am and trying to figure out why, because I don’t have the balls to go up to him and ask him myself. But it’s not just that. I try to be the person that people want, you know? I...”

Remus scoffed, Peter kept talking. “You’re right when you say that I do things to benefit myself. But don’t be... don’t be so self-obsessed to say that I didn’t do some of the things I did just for myself! You know what, you’re right. I lied. When I said that I didn’t mind not having friends, I said that it was easy, you know.”

He looked down and hid his face from Remus’ view.

“It wasn’t easy. I saw you three together all the time. And I knew that if I just, if I just adopted a few certain qualities and made myself likeable, then I would have friends. I knew it was possible. But I couldn’t, because if I did, then bad things would happen to me and to you guys. And I didn’t want to put up an act. This is me, this is me — this shrivelling, selfish mess and... so, I couldn’t. I, I couldn’t and it was hard, okay? It was...” he sobbed.

Remus seemed to falter out of the corner of his eyes. Peter felt like he was being manipulative on some level, so he tried to rub his face dry and he sucked in a large breath and held it. He wanted to fight on his own verbal merit.

“I wanted company, you know, but I knew that befriending some of you would be destructive and it’s not like anyone outside of your group ever approached me. It was lonely, I was lonely. Sometimes I just wanted to forget that I knew about this reality. I wanted to pretend that I could just approach you all and apologise and everything would be okay and nothing bad would happen.”

The sick thing was that he knew that they would accept his apology. They’d welcome him in with open arms, and Peter would be so irrevocably happy.

Remus looked down at him, still silent, but he looked a little bit less furious. 

“I don’t get it,” Remus said eventually. “You said that bad things would happen to us. You wouldn’t have done anything to save us.”

“What would you have expected me to do?”

“I don’t know! You’re the one who knows everything.”

“No I don’t. I was scared. I didn’t know what would happen, so I just decided to not do anything so —“

“Ah, so you’d let James and Lily and, who knows who else, die.”

Peter clenched his fists and glared up at him. “I spent twelve years resenting you! I didn’t want anything to do with you. It was when I came to Hogwarts, and we instantly started to fight, that I decided that fuck it. Fuck it, I didn’t care.” He wouldn’t care. He wouldn’t care if they died. He would care about himself, because he had been thinking hard, and he had been angry, for way too long already.

Remus finally lowered his wand, but Peter didn’t feel accomplished. It wasn’t a sign of forgiveness.

Remus stared him down. “We didn’t do anything to make you resent us. You picked the fights.”

“Some of them.”

“You decided to hate us before you even met us.”

“I did. I was scared, I was angry, what would you have done?”

Remus licked his lips.

“I don’t forgive you,” he met Peter’s eyes and held eye-contact.

“I don’t expect you to.”

“When we get back, I don’t want anything to do with you.”

“I know.”

“You’re helping me get back. I don’t care if there’s nothing for you there, there are people there for me.”

“I will.”

They didn’t like each other, and tension remained, but both were willing to let it go for the moment.

“I didn’t hurt you that much, did I?” Remus sounded a bit concerned. He eyed the way Peter started to rub his cheek.

“A little bit,” Peter admitted. “But it’ll pass.”

..

“If you ever,” Remus said, “ever, betray or do anything awful to my friends, I’m going to put you six feet under. I’m not doing anything to you now because I think you have the capability to do right by us. But that can change. And I’ll change with that belief.”

..

They crouched in front of the fireplace in Pettigrew’s house.

“Well,” Peter said, holding a handful of floo powder he had found under Pettigrew’s bed, “time to decide where to go.” Inevitably astute paranoia was something the two Pettigrew’s had in common.

“Diagon Alley, so we can send a letter to Dumbledore.”

“But Remus,” he whined, “he smells weird.”

“You never had a problem with his smell before today.” He sounded tired. He probably believed that Peter had said a joke, but he was really just stating the truth.

“Wrong—“

“—Help me make a fire. We can’t use our wands, so I’m trying to use these two sticks here.” He held up two dry sticks he’d picked up off the ground outside. 

“Does the floo even work this way? Don’t we need to be attached to a floo network? I don’t think we’re meant to light a fire and hope for the best.”

Remus grinned. “I’ve been reading since before I could walk. I can attach it up to the network, but only for an hour at a time. ”

“Why the fuck would you read about floo network connections?”

“Quick getaways,” he said solemnly. Peter snorted. 

“Do we even need floo there in the house?” He didn’t want to stay inside. It was too, well, ew.

“Guess not,” Remus hummed. “We might as well go outside; this place is not the safest place to be right now, what with the glass and everything. I spotted a good area outside earlier, we should go there.”

Peter gave him a thumbs up. He also drew up his cheeks in an overly forced smile.

“Merlin’s saggy balls Peter — that’s terrifying.”

..

He rubbed the two bits of wood together outside underneath a group of trees, beside Peter. 

Remus was... scared. Partially, and the rest of him was full of bitter anger and small amounts of thankfulness and sympathy and disgust and anger, more fear, more pining after his friends and homesickness and cold apathy and gentle bewilderment—

Peter was bewildering. Remus didn’t understand him; what with his contradicting moods. He also made a lot more jokes than he had back at Hogwarts. Maybe Peter had always been that way, and Remus just hadn’t noticed.

It wasn’t like Peter didn’t joke at all back then — the occurrence of Alice’s mother’s death came to mind — but it certainly wasn’t as frequently or as lighthearted.

He was like a chihuahua, like one released from a corner, one that could finally move — and that was a shame, really, because Remus didn’t like chihuahuas.

They were too loud — Sirius had found his dislike for them hilarious. “What about wolves?” Sirius had suggested after Remus’ confession one day in potions class. “Are they more your type?” 

Remus hadn’t found that very funny, but James sure had. Wankers.

Remus could be accomodating for Peter and his chihuahua-ness anyway. He helped Peter when he had a panic attack, and when he had looked like he was going to combust from the amount of panic in his face at times, Remus tried to comfort him, because that was normal and nice and Remus couldn’t do otherwise if he tried.

(Sure, he could have done better at the whole ‘comforting’ thing, but in Remus’ defence he was sort of preoccupied mentally by current events.)

Remus didn’t understand Peter, and Peter didn’t understand him. 

Peter couldn’t see the distress at losing his friends, the pure... disgust, self-pity and anger when he was told he’d never see them again because hell, Peter didn’t have any himself. Peter couldn’t understand, because he couldn’t possibly.

Remus didn’t like him.

All Peter was, was someone way too convinced the world was out to get him, and in response he had built up an asshole of a personality to combat it. To protect himself and the people around him, apparently.

So, Peter distanced himself because otherwise he could possibly betray Remus and his friends, which would result in him faking his death or whatever?

Good for him, but he’d get no sympathy from Remus.

He had punched him, because of the look of guilt on his face. He had punched him, because he knew Peter, and if Peter was asked to betray them to save himself — he would do it. He had punched him, because by distancing himself, he admitted to the possibility of betraying them despite knowing the consequences of doing so.

He knew that physical violence was a bad way to deal with problems. He knew that, and that was why he had apologised.

Annoying, was a good word for Peter. Active, he fidgeted a lot. Maybe the word ‘obnoxious’ or ‘angsty.’

Honestly, the amount of raw stress that seemed to emanate from him was unnecessary. It was like with every movement he was saying he was in pain, which was why it was a wonder he was so popular with the Hogwarts students. Lily had been particularly furious with that, as she practically spat on the ground Peter walked on. She hadn’t seen the sense in it.

She’d told them the stories, and Remus couldn’t blame her for the fighting between the two of them. But he couldn’t blame Peter either. Remus didn’t have an opinion on it. What happened happened, and they were both right and wrong. There shouldn’t have been more to it, but unfortunately it just seemed like Peter and Lily had the exact personalities to clash and prolong a fight.

It was pretty easy to dislike Peter.

And as for Lily’s issue with Peter — Remus wasn’t even sure they were fighting over the initial clash anymore. It was more of bitter residing feelings they fought over, now.

He missed Lily. And James, and Sirius. They... they accepted him, they were nice to him and they even started to try and become animagus for him. Did he think they’d succeed? They were dumbasses, so no, not really. But the fact that they tried; mum was right when she said he’d find good friends.

And now, now he was stuck with Peter Pettigrew some 15-20 years in the future in a dreamed up reality. Apparently. Did Remus entirely believe what he said? No, Remus still had a niggling feeling that the boy was playing around with him for kicks. The things he said just seemed so bizarre.

But the way Peter talked about everything made Remus believe that partial bit. The things he confessed to... he knew that they weren’t lies, Peter just wasn’t the type to purposely try to get Remus angry with him. The unadulterated horror was hard to fake, Remus knew because of the many times he stood in hallways near professors and tried to imitate it when pranks went off nearby.

Thankfully professors usually looked more at his badge than his face in passing, otherwise he was sure he’d have gotten a lot more detentions.

(Still a better liar than Peter.)

So... Remus believed Peter. Not really. A little bit. Maybe. Even if that meant that by believing him, he was acknowledging that all of his friends were gone, and all of the acceptance over his... illness, was gone, like a small falling leaf near the whomping willow.

At least the whomping willow would probably still be there. 

Ah no, no in hindsight maybe that wasn’t a good thing.

Remus... couldn’t find his friends now. If he was in the future, if Peter was right, then they were gone. Not all of them, but some. And the people who weren’t gone-gone — Sirius and Alice and Frank, were as good as. Older. Not his, not really.

He couldn’t stay here. He didn’t belong, he belonged back where his friends were, where people had — despite all former belief, despite fate — accepted him, wolfy side and all.

It wouldn’t happen again. His friends were one in a thousand. Remus was well read, he knew what the average person thought about werewolves. If he wanted to be happy, if he wanted anything, he’d go back. 

(If people found out who and what he really was, they’d run for the hills, but Lily, James and Sirius had stayed, because they were his.)

The Lily, James and Sirius here weren’t his. Some weren’t even here anymore.

Remus glanced over at Peter and sighed.

He bit his lip, grit his teeth and sighed again. Peter looked up at him, amused, and then turned back to his sticks.

Fuck it.

Fuck it. Remus was lying to himself, he knew that.

He knew that...

They had to leave; Peter... Peter was telling the truth. 

(He was so, so angry.)

Remus knew that Peter was telling the truth.

He told himself that Peter wasn’t, that he was lying but. But.

It was so easy to pretend that he knew better than Peter. To act as if he was older, to try and take charge despite not knowing what was going on. 

To act like he didn’t believe him.

Initially, he didn’t believe Peter at all. He just couldn’t.

But now, now when things were all quiet and there was nothing but the sound of sticks rubbing together, he realised that somewhere deep down, he did believe him.

Peter wasn’t as much as a good liar as he thought he was, he had a tell. Remus just respectfully ignored it at times. Remus always knew when he lied, because he knew what to look for.

Peter hadn’t lied.

But he had to have. He lied when he said he saw it in a dream. But he didn’t lie when he said he knew where they were, he didn’t lie when he said those things about when he was a kid, or about his reasoning behind who he was. He didn’t lie about his dad or his mum, or about how he knew the Pettigrew in this dimension wasn’t dead, about how he knew he’d betrayed them.

It was the things he didn’t lie about that scared Remus. 

Who was Peter Pettigrew? 

Remus had always loved fantasy books. Books that changed worlds and gave new perspectives, non-fiction. Cinderella, even if his dad had teased him about it being a girls book. Beauty and the Beast. Sleeping Beauty. Snow White.

But now, when he felt like his world had become the book, he wanted a refund, because really? Really?

He gave a particularly hard tap to the two bits of wood, and Peter looked at him briefly.

He wanted to go back. Remus loved Hogwarts! It was fantastic, big and amazing to explore, fascinating and mysterious and he had only started trying to uncover all the mysteries.

(What if he never went back?)

What would happen to Hogwarts? What would his friends think? Would they miss him, Remus Lupin, a werewolf? 

They would. 

They’d miss him. Wolf and all. 

He’d get back. He would, he had to.

He sparked a flame, and Peter jumped up.

..

They had seated themselves under a tree at the edge of the forest surrounding the village. After a fair while, Remus finally lit a spark and Peter bolted to his feet and threw a few large sticks into the small flame, and blowed on it slightly. It fired up.

Peter jumped around the fire, “we did it! Who can muggle? We can.”

“You’re like a chihuahua.”

“‘To Hua or not to Hua, that is the question,’” Peter quoted.

Remus blinked. “You were listening to us?”

“You’re all super loud, it was hard not to listen.”

Remus chuckled, his face looked awfully sickly and pale in the light. “Peter... We’re going back.”

Peter nodded sadly and warmed his hands. “Yeah, we’re going back.”

(But of course, just because they said it didn’t mean it was true.)

Chapter Text

“Diagon Alley!” Peter shouted, and seconds later he stumbled out of a grate, ash on the bottom of his pants. Shortly after Remus tumbled out after him, completely clean,

“How?” Peter hissed, looking him up and down.

“Some people have class,” said Remus playfully. “You just have to be born with it.”

“I’ll shove my class up your — oh look! Fortescues has new flavours!” Honestly, one would think the old ice-cream shop would have less flavours in the past. But it was actually larger and the ice-cream was definitely more diverse.

Peter was about to wander over, when a hand halted him. Remus raised an eyebrow. “We need to send a letter. We don’t need ice-cream. And neither of us have money.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Do you have money?”

“No.”

Remus sent him a look.

He frowned at Remus. He just wanted to look, that was all! It would only take a second, but the look on Remus’ face made him keep quiet. He was probably pushing it enough just by being there. His face still hurt from that punch earlier.

“Oh shit, Fortescues really does have new flavours,” Remus said after a bit. That shocked a laugh out of Peter. 

Peter gave him a very serious look. “We need money for ice-cream.”

“No, we need money to send a letter.”

“Yeah, that’s true too. After we get back I’m getting ice-cream though. We can get both.”

“Right.”

They got a few odd looks, due to their ages. Thankfully it was the weekend when they’d disappeared at Hogwarts, so they didn’t have their uniforms on. If they did they’d have a thousand more problems. 

Peter tried walking more snobbishly to imitate someone older than he actually was, but Remus lightly tapped the back of his head and he grudgingly stopped.

He aggressively wiped the ash on his pants while Remus politely ignored his grumbling. A man near Madam Malkin’s looked over them with a disappointed sniff.

Yeah, if he wore his robes they’d probably go aflame after he stumbled out of the fireplace. Thank whatever higher deity for pants.

“Since we need money,” Peter said, “I suggest petty theft. All in favour? Yes? Alright, there’s a pompous asshole down the street who’s been eying me and I want to rob him blind.”

“We’re not stealing!” Remus grabbed his shoulder and his nails lightly pressed into his skin.

“You stole my lampshade, you're not above petty theft.”

“You got it back, didn’t you? You speak like you’ve stolen before.”

“I have!” Peter bragged, “it’s not as easy as you’d think it is, but I’m good at sneaking around. As for why, I’m sure you can guess why I’d need to steal.”

Remus growled lowly at him, met the eyes of the man near Madam Malkin’s and dragged Peter aside to a small brick fence surrounding a tree. They sat on the bricks. “We’re not stealing.”

“You’re a poor guy, surely you’ve stolen before? Again, with my lampshade —“

“You got it back!”

Yeah, and it stunk.

“There was no other same lampshade on the market,” Peter said, aghast. “It was covered in frogs, you know that, and frog pattered fabric doesn’t exactly come cheap. I made and altered that magically myself —“

“—let that go, and no, I haven’t. Well alright, maybe I helped James take things from the potions cupboard a few times by creating distractions, but I myself didn’t take anything. I’m a lot of things, but... I’m not stealing, Peter. We’ll ask around.”

“We’re not begging people for money.”

“It won’t be that bad, I doubt they’d even remember us.”

“We’re not begging people for money!” Peter shouted. “If you’re not a thief, then I’m not a beggar!”

“What else do you propose we do, then?” Remus hissed. He signalled for Peter to keep it down while his nostrils flared.

“Steal!” Peter whisper-shouted. 

“We’re not stealing!”

“Well we’re sure as hell not begging. We’re in some weird alternate universe place, Remus. We might as well throw away our morals.”

“You mean I throw away my morals.”

“Better morals than dignity. Lupin. Lupin, you have no idea where we are, do you? If you did, you’d see how something as stupid as — your inability to steal — is.”

“Where are we? Your fucked up dream alternate dimension apparently,” Remus rolled his eyes, obviously disbelieving.

“Have you looked around? Have you noticed anything missing?”

Witches and wizards wandered past, shopping bags over their arms and other luggage items shrunken in pockets. Owls occasionally twittered by and perched on shoulders. Small buzzes and pops echoed out from a tiny local joke shop, and small children gathered around a displayed broom.

In the distance two kids chased after each other.

It was the future, and so much more skin was uncovered then before. Many witches and wizards wore neon colours, as was the fashion in the 90’s, and kids chattered loudly about inane things as they followed after their family members.

People relaxed at Fortescues with ice-creams in their hands. Wizards laughed obnoxiously in pin-striped robes while parents smiled accommodatingly down at their kids.

Out of all of the people, all of the witches and wizards, there was one thing in common. One thing that was missing, that was so different from Remus’ world that it practically screamed in their faces.

“Peter,” Remus said blankly. “May I enquire as to where the fuck the soulmarks are?”

Remus looked absolutely astounded by the face that Peter made in response, and understanding dawned on him. 

He leaned out to scrutinise the skin of passerby’s, as if begging for the possibility Peter was lying. Unfortunately for him, Peter was not.

“Ding ding ding,” Peter sang sarcastically. “You’ve finally noticed. You get it, don’t you? We’re not in the universe next door to ours. Nope. We’re somewhere different entirely, somewhere with a convoluted future that is far different from what you could ever imagine. 

“I know who ends up with who here and all that, but do you? I know who gets born, what they’re meant to do... and trust me, you’re going to have to pick up your trousers and filch money from old pompous bastards because no one is going to fucking do it for you.”

Peter had known that since he was Mary. Some people had help in the world, and others had zilch. Remus didn’t want to steal because he saw himself as above being a thief. 

But Peter. Peter would do almost anything to save his own skin. Even if that meant danger, even if that meant damning the people around him. He was a survivor. Things such as morals and compassion didn’t apply to him — they didn’t need to apply to him. 

He wouldn’t beg. He didn’t need the help of strangers. 

(Morals and compassion didn't need to apply to him. Peter saw himself for what he was, and what he was, was stubborn. He wouldn’t back down because of things like morals or compassion, because he was strong. He was a survivor. He was the grit that stayed underneath finger nails. He was unyielding. And sure, Peter had many flaws, and he saw that — but didn’t everyone? Who cared if he didn’t fit into what other people saw as indicative of being a good human being. Peter was strong. He was Peter Pettigrew. And he didn’t need anything else.)

(—And Remus needed to grow up. He needed to become a survivor, or he just wouldn’t be able to cut it in this new world. The problem with Remus was that he actually wanted to help the people around him. He had faith. He wanted to cut out a place for himself in the world, even knowing full well what he was, even thinking that he shouldn’t.

But the world didn’t work that way. It wouldn’t kneel down and let him be fucking happy. Sometimes one needed to be kind, sure. But other times they needed to be the fingernail grit. And Remus didn’t understand that yet.)

(Peter would make him.)

Remus looked like his entire world had fallen apart. He clenched his teeth. “We can ask around,” he insisted lowly under the weight of the new revelations. He rubbed his stomach, which Peter knew was where his soulmark was.

“I’d prefer not to get noticed,” Peter insisted. “We really don’t need that. I don’t like Dumbledore, for obvious reasons—“

“—you think he smells weird—“

Remus itched his stomach.

“But if I’m going along with that, you’re going along with this—”

“—Peter, fuck off for a second,” Remus muttered. 

“What now?”

“I just lost my soulmate.”

Oh right, he would be bothered by that, wouldn’t he? It was honestly sort of annoying. Nonetheless, Peter decided to be nice about it. “You’re going back,” Peter argued softly.

He didn’t understand why Remus cared so much. He didn’t understand why anyone cared about soulmarks so much. Well, he did — they chased after their own happy endings and all that — but he wished they didn’t.

(—He had been reborn in a tragedy. He just knew it. It was just his luck; no doubt, the universe was laughing at him, and he was one of the unlucky few stuck with a leftover person in the world. Someone outright ghastly and sickly. No doubt, the universe had its eyes on him. No doubt, it expected him to search the world like a lovesick puppy like so many others, only to make fun of him—)

They just weren’t worth it.

And besides, they had something more important to deal with. Peter blinked at him.

“Peter.”

“Right. I’ll give you a moment.”

Remus nodded.

People spent their whole lives searching for their soulmates, and even a momentary separation from that goal didn’t tend to end well with people. 

Peter... couldn’t really relate, when he had lost his soulmate, he had been very young and therefore it didn’t impact him that much. 

He coughed.

He wasn’t interested in romance, he was too busy focused on himself.

(When he grew up, he didn’t change much from his younger mentality. The ‘romance isn’t worth anything’ mentality. He just became more bitter, more subdued about it. And when his dad started to make fun of him more often, he became less vocal. 

He came to Hogwarts and unalike his peers, he didn’t search for any clues about what had happened to his soulmate on the train. They were dead, who cared? He didn’t need to look into it. Fact of the matter was that faded soulmarks equaled dead soulmates. Everyone knew that.)

(Soulmarks didn’t always appear on both or all halves at the same time anyway, so it was likely he’d never find out who he had had due to the sheer outnumbering probability that it had never formed on them before they kicked it. Besides. He didn’t need a soulmate. Peter was fine by himself.)

Remus had never been too open about his soulmark; he gave a simple description and spent his time giving fun excuses to not show it. Peter personally thought it was because he must have a large nasty scar intersecting it or something, and he didn’t want to explain that away. So Peter didn’t question it, and whenever it was brought up, he politely tuned conversation out and looked away. It wasn’t any of his business and — fuck — he just didn’t care.

(—it was just his luck—)

But just because he didn’t show his mark didn’t mean Remus didn’t care about it; and Remus’ reaction to it now made that fact obvious. His jaw was clenched and his shoulders pushed into himself. 

He didn’t deal with the loss well; maybe he saw his soulmate as someone who accepted him — who could possibly accept him — and the loss hurt hard. Or maybe he was just really horny. 

Hey, Peter didn’t know. But teenagers were teenagers, right? There were many answers Peter could speculate about. About why Remus cared so much.

Maybe he was thinking about the possibility of their death while he was gone.

Maybe he was trying to imagine if in the possibility he ever got back, he would be years their senior, or them years his.

Maybe he was wondering if he’d ever get back to try and find them again.

Remus’ soulmate was wandering around in that old dimension, as clueless and careless as ever. Peter didn’t understand why Remus cared so much, it wasn’t like Remus and his soulmate had found each other, so his soulmate wouldn’t care or know enough to worry. And Peter knew that Remus hadn’t found his match, otherwise his roommates would have been very vocal about it.

Peter couldn’t possibly imagine who Remus’ soulmate could be. He’d have pinned it for Sirius, but Sirius was taken by Snape — yeah, still weird whenever he thought about that — so that was out of the basket.

The situation — the dimension travelling — seemed to dawn on Remus in that moment; not that it hadn’t before.

“What about yours? Aren’t you worried about your soulmate?” Remus asked after a couple of minutes.

Peter laughed, bitter. “Mine’s dead, did you forget?”

“This is a new alternate universe. They could, uh, be alive.”

“Nah, mines six feet under either way, I’m sure. And even if they weren’t, I wouldn’t chase after them, because I never knew who they were. Nor do I care about who they were.”

Remus licked his lips and fidgeted with his hands. He looked oddly vulnerable. “Does it ever get better?” To be so far away from them, he didn’t say aloud.

Peter met his eyes. “I don’t know. But when we get back, you’ll find them again. It’s not like yours is dead.” Remus looked nervous, and Peter winced.

“I miss them,” Remus admitted.

“It’s been not even a day.”

“I mean this from the bottom of my heart Peter; go fuck yourself.”

Peter frowned. “I’d rather not.”

There was a short pause.

“Merlin I wish I had access to the prefect bathroom right now. I’m so tired.”

Peter’s eyes twinkled, “I wish we had ice-cream!”

“Maybe. But only when we get back, and if we have enough spare change.”

“After we get back from robbing these bitches!”

“Peter, please.”

..

“Okay but I still say ‘let’s empty his wallet.’” The grumpy wizard was still glaring at him.

“If we’re doing this,” Remus hissed, “we’re only taking a few knuts. I don’t care what he looks like, I’d prefer to not do this, severely or not, based off of appearance. It’s just not right.”

“If we don’t get enough money, then we can’t get ice-cream. And I also want a wand holster while we’re here. My old one is fraying a bit, see this?” He held it up. “There’s a bit of lint attached at the end. Lint is coming out of my wand holster, Remus — I cant live like this.”

“We don’t want to be noticed. We’re, and I cannot stress this enough, doing this quickly and only getting what we need. We’re sending a letter, a single letter. We, unfortunately, don’t need ice-cream.”

Peter grinned teasingly, “I know, just messing with you.”

“Could you... not?”

He held up both his hands in surrender.

..

“How,” Peter said slowly, “the fuck?”

Remus held up a handful of knuts. “Petty theft, obviously. I’m not proud of it.”

“You’re a fucking master!”

“I’m a fucking criminal.”

Peter laughed awkwardly and scratched the back of his neck. “And that’s what’s going to ensure our survival. Now c’mon, the post office is this way.”

Remus had managed to get a lot more than Peter, and Peter didn’t have a clue how. Peter had five knuts, Remus had around twenty and Peter had been doing it for years so he was aghast. Remus didn’t look proud of himself at all, so Peter decided to not bring it up.

“Diagon is so much bigger then before,” Remus muttered as they wandered down the street, winnings in tow. He pointed to a small bright shop, the sign was partially concealed by a large tree. “There used to be a shop there called ‘Driftwood Drawings.’”

“Art stores don’t last long,” Peter said, he was genuinely sad about it. “What’s it been replaced by — oh shit, yeah, that’s definitely a sex shop.”

They avoided looking at it as they passed by. 

Peter noticed a familiar black and white poster and subtly changed their path. He didn’t want Remus to see that.

“I’ll miss the art store,” Remus mumbled. “I’ll spend a lot of money there when we get back.”

“I’ll steal a few things too,” Peter said in the same sad tone.

“Peter.”

“Oh shush.”

Remus hummed, still unamused. 

The bell twinkled as they entered, and Peter picked out a cheap letter set and Remus looked over the quills and inks.

Peter hoped Dumbledore had chosen a new fragrance when they saw him again. He also, for other reasons, didn’t want to see Dumbledore again in the first place. He was always a manipulative old fart, and Peter didn’t want any part in whatever Dumbledore was up to. 

(But he decided to go along with Remus’ plan anyway, because he reckoned it was the only way to calm him down. Nonetheless, he mourned the fact that he didn’t have enough money for fake ID’s. Not that he knew how much they cost, but he could guess, and since it was from Knockturn they’d definitely be expensive.)

The second the old man tried to make Peter a part of any grand plot, he was grabbing the man’s bird and using it to set fire to Dumbledore’s robes. So what if he’d go to a magical prison? It was better than dying a martyr for some old fart pulling on puppet strings.

Peter was about to write something similar to, ‘hello it’s us,’ when Remus must’ve caught the look in his eye and took it from where it was about to hit the paper. Peter received a withering glare.

‘Dear Professor Dumbledore,’ Remus wrote in fluid neat script that Peter was a little bit jealous of, ‘We’re in an alarming situation and are in need of dire help.’

“Why don’t you write ‘we’re posh old fools’ in there too, and just be done with it?”

“It’s called being respectful,” Remus said a little bit teasingly. “I doubt we’ll be taken seriously without respect.”

Peter was tempted to draw a dick in the corner just to fuck with Remus. He didn’t care if Dumbledore didn’t reply, or deemed the message a prank. He would prefer to get IDs, hell, he even would prefer to go find the well that he knew existed in Australia, because...

(Because,—)

‘We have unfortunately been involved in a magical incident in an alternate dimension, and have therefore been misplaced here. We would accept any help you deem fit, as we know you’re a very intelligent wizard, and we were familiar with you in aforementioned alternate dimension.’

“Fuck yeah, butter him up.”

“I’m not ‘buttering him up,’ I’m being truthful.”

“You’re buttering him up.”

“Fine, I’m buttering him up.”

‘Our names are —‘

“Woah!” Peter interrupted, “let’s not be hasty here! I’m literally fake-dead in this reality, I don’t need my name out there!”

“Why not? You’re dead, and apparently you’ve died a hero. Even if you did betray us. Bastard. Dumbledore isn’t going to dislike you because for all he knows you were a good person in this dimension.”

“Well —“

‘Peter Pettigrew and Remus Lupin.’

“Bastard,” Peter hissed.

‘We were fifth year students at Hogwarts in Gryffindor house. The travel here was unintentional, and we’re unsure as to how to get back. We were hoping that you would have an idea of how to help us, or if you could possibly advise us on how to proceed from this point forward.

‘If it’s in your best interests, we’d love to extend further on the situation in person and as soon as possible. We await your owl.’

Peter grinned. “We await your Phoenix, anyway.”

‘Sincerely, Remus Lupin.’

“Why didn’t you include my name there?” Peter asked, “I helped.”

“Did you? Your name is already mentioned, he knows you’re here.”

He rolled his eyes. Remus was oddly petty.

They took it to the desk, paid with half of the knuts they hadn’t already spent on the quill, ink, or the letter, and watched the owl take flight. 

Remus was oddly enough fine to be around, even if they did argue a lot. When he wasn’t at Hogwarts, or his house, he felt like there were no weights on his shoulders. He felt free. He took a deep breath and let it slowly out.

Remus sighed. “You don’t happen to know any places to stay the night or eat do you, oh all-knowing-one?”

There was a cave in Hogsmead wasn’t there? But fuck it all if Peter was living in a cave. Due to the recent markings on Peter’s grave and the new posters in the street, they were somewhere in the third book.  Chances were they wouldn’t be in the cave by themselves.

None of the people in Diagon Alley were Hogwarts age, so everyone was at school.  Including Remus Lupin from this dimension. Remus’ house therefore, must be free. But Peter didn’t have the foggiest clue of where that was, and they couldn’t live at Peter’s because somebody kicked in the windows — Peter did that, Peter kicked in the windows — and. Well, just no way in fucking hell was he ever going back to that craphole.

“You have a house, don’t you?”

“Small problem with that, I’m most likely living in it.”

“Nah. You’re at Hogwarts.”

Horror overtook Remus’ face. “I never graduated? Shit, I’m not the groundskeeper am I?”

Peter blinked. “You’re a teacher. Strange that didn’t click for you.”

“I can’t be a teacher,” Remus said to him in a quiet, furious whisper. 

“Dumbledore literally hires everyone. He hired that knife teacher, remember?”

“‘Knife-teacher’ was bloody fantastic, actually. I’m — I can’t be a teacher.”

While paying attention to the conversation, at the back of his head, Peter distantly realised he hadn’t even told Remus about Harry yet. 

Well, shit. Maybe later.

He’d actually skimped a lot on the details. Before, Remus had asked about where Peter thought they were and Peter had casually skipped over the details entirely in favour of validating his claim of knowing, through what amounted to ‘I know about here I dreamed about it.’ Which was, in hindsight, not the best move.

He’d go for the ‘small bits of information at a time’ approach then.

“Tell that to your alternate self. It’s good for us because we get to live in your house.”

“But my parents... oh. Right. They’re probably not here anymore, are they?”

“Ah. I’m sorry,” Peter mumbled genuinely. 

Today must’ve really been the worst for Remus Lupin. 

Cold dread cloaked Remus’ face. “I hate this.”

“I know.”

“I want to go back.”

Peter understood. “I know. But you can’t, not right now. Now you’ve got to live, because no one else can do it for you, and you’re not going to fucking give up just because the universe said so. You don’t deserve that, and you don’t get to give the universe that satisfaction.”

Remus clenched and unclenched his fists. He looked away.

“It’s... my house is small, but it should work. Chances are I haven’t moved house since my family has owned one for decades. My great-grandad made it back in the 1800’s. I have a key around my neck, it should match the lock.”

Peter didn’t question the convenience of the key. Maybe it was a memento, a way to keep his parents close to his heart. Peter couldn’t guess any other reason as to why he carried it around Hogwarts. It wasn’t showing on Remus, it must’ve been tucked under his two layers of clothes.

“It won’t get better,” he both stated it outright and answered the question from earlier. “But it’ll get easier.” 

Remus swallowed. “I know.”

..

They used their remaining knuts for floo-powder by the fireplaces — they didn’t have enough for ice-cream — and the next thing they knew they were in a small grate hidden behind some trees and rocks and close enough to Remus’ house.

“I don’t get why we couldn’t just go inside and use that fireplace instead of using this one.”

“I’m very good at using the floo and altering it, no doubt older me would have intruder alarms. Besides, this has been here for years, my parents use...d it for house guests, since my mum jumped up and freaked out whenever people popped up in the fireplace unannounced.”

Gee, Peter wondered why. Having a werewolf attacking your home when your kid was young, and then infecting them must’ve really instigated a lot of trauma.

“You need someone to garden here,” Peter muttered on the way up the footpath. “It’s awfully... blank.”

“No doubt I’m too busy working.” He trudged towards the front door and Peter followed behind him. Remus didn’t look back to check to see if he was following.

“You’ll only be at Hogwarts for a year, and you started... I don’t know what time exactly. Earlier. You could have planted flowers. Flowers are fantastic.”

“Your garden wasn’t exactly front magazine cover material either.”

Peter scrunched up his nose. “Well, my self here is an ugly rat-man who’s practically homeless and laying low so no one notices he’s not as dead as they think he is. I doubt he’s ever watered a flower a day in his life.” 

“I might punch your other self in the face if I see him.”

“Oh, go ahead. I don’t look that much like him, so I don’t know if you’re going to get much satisfaction.”

“Oh I assure you, I will. Don’t think I really care if he looks like you or not, he sounds like an asshole, and as the guy who apparently somehow betrayed me and my friends — he’s getting his dick kicked.”

“Fun.”

“My reasoning is that my other self probably would do the same if he knew Pettigrew was alive. Does he? No? Yeah, then I’m doing good in this world. I’m just helping my other self out in exchange for us staying in my — his, house.”

Or Remus was going a bit stir crazy, which was understandable. It was better than him taking it out on the Peter next to him, so he wouldn’t protest as much as he knew he could.

Self-preservation for the win.

“I might get a kick in too,” Peter said after a while. “He’s a bit of a dumbass.”

“You’re not building a case for yourself.” Remus took the key from out of his clothes and put it in the lock. There was a quick light that went over Remus’ hand, which eventually faded and the door clicked open. It must’ve been verification.

“He’s not me! Why would I defend him?”

“Well, you know. Same childhood, same house — I think, you were in Gryffindor too here weren’t you, I saw a flag above your bed — so yeah, basically you. It’s weird you’re not defending yourself.”

“He’s not me! I’m not him! My mum died when I was a kid, so you know, we grew up a little bit differently. And he did all this — all that — and I, me, didn’t do it so! I’m! Not him.

Remus snorted. “You could have been him.”

“But I wasn’t! Trust me, I hold no sympathy for the guy. In fact, I don’t like him either.”

Peter scowled, and crossed his arms childishly. Remus shook his head with — was that amusement? — and faced the inside of his house. His small smile instantly melted, and solemn solitude replaced it.

“Has it changed a lot?” Peter asked.

Two old worn-out chairs sat in front of an unlit fireplace. Beige and cream tiles decorated the sides of a very small kitchen, where glass cabinets displayed simple plates and the occasional glass ornament. 

A large worn rug covered the living room, a dark blue colour that was partially stained in places but otherwise looked well taken care of. The walls were an off-white, and bits of paint were peeling off in some of the corners, which revealed a light shade of green. 

“No,” he said softly. “It hasn’t changed at all.”

..

“Bean time!” Peter had searched the kitchen for food and had come out with sealed tins at the very back of his cupboard. All were covered in a thick veil of dust.

“Beans are disgusting,” Remus said. 

“Then why do you have them?”

Remus grabbed a can and turned it over. He winced when dust stuck to his fingers. “Well, either my alternate self has deficient taste buds or... these are twenty years old.”

Peter stared at the tin.

“I’m going to eat them.”

“You better fucking not.”

They didn’t eat the beans.

..

They didn’t sleep in the guest bedroom or the main bedroom. Remus didn’t feel comfortable with it, and Peter just followed his lead.

They both slept on the armchairs, which were pushed down to make them makeshift beds, although slightly slanted. When Peter heard soft crying, he didn’t say anything.

(Peter might have cried a bit too.)

Chapter Text

Once upon a time, on the day he received his soul mark, he’d told himself that he’d give the universe no choice but to free him from his fate. Not in those words exactly, but similar enough words.

And now he was somewhere where his life  wasn’t guaranteed to end in failure . He was in a place where he was  free . He had had a place before, a shitty place, and now he had a  new one. A  new  place where he didn’t have to betray his friends or work for a dark lord. Fuck, he didn’t have to have any contact with dark forces at all.

Knowing about what was going to happen to the people and the world around him was useful. Knowing about what was going to happen to  himself  was frustrating. But now, he didn’t have a clue! Nada. Oh, he knew what would happen with Harry, and Dumbledore and the prophecy and all that, but he knew nothing about his own fate. It was  beautiful .

It was as he watched Remus sleep that he fully started to realize that.

He was free. He didn’t have to watch his footsteps anymore, because now, he didn’t know the consequences of  not  doing so. 

Now, Peter wasn’t anyone that ‘could have been’ or ‘could be.’ His path didn’t end in the possibility of betrayal and suffering and spending thirteen years as a rat. Peter was his own person because  there was another one of him   to take his place.

Someone was a rat, and it wasn’t him. He was Peter, but he wasn’t that Peter.

And, not to mention —

(Dad, was dead.)

Six feet under.

( He wasn’t happy about it. Not really, but he didn’t know why. He had never liked the guy. He only felt relief. )

He didn’t want to go back (to that house) and have to watch his back again.

(Peter hadn’t wanted him to die.)

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to leave this new dimension. Even if things weren’t  perfect , things were  better .

It was like a fucked up version of a holiday. But a good one.  A fucked up one, but a good one .

(It was less lonely. Remus was stuck with him. He should have felt guilty for feeling that way, for being happy that he wasn’t the only one stuck here, but he wasn’t.)

..

For as long as he could remember, there had been something in the back of his head that seemed to count down in indecipherable increments. It was only as it slowed down, however, that he realised it was there. It was like a heartbeat. It slowed down from its fast pace, and it felt  liberating .

Peter watched Remus mumble something wordless in his sleep. 

How long had it been there, exactly?

..

Peter fidgeted with the moth-eaten blanket over his shoulders and mourned the cramps he’d feel in the morning. The chair he was on was  not  comfortable.

Remus hadn’t wanted them to sleep in the beds, presumedly because he’d feel weird if people disturbed the spaces of his... ahh. Peter’s brain was tired. 

Well, he didn’t know, but the chair was fine, he guessed.

Damn did his back and feet hurt.

..

Peter felt indescribable.

..

He fell asleep.

..

“They were good parents.”

The two graves were well cared for and placed on a sweet little hill nearby the house, underneath a large tree with long branches.

Peter had woken up to find the other chair bare, only to look out the window in the living room to see Remus standing in front of two stones within walking distance.

When Peter stood beside him, rubbing his eyes, he felt a sense of déjà vu.

Remus had prominent eye-bags.

Peter didn’t say anything.

“They... weren’t always the best, but they tried hard. I wonder how they died.”

Peter hummed. “Together,” he said eventually. The dates aligned that way. 

“I wonder if they died in the war.”

Peter re-read the date on the tombstones. 1981.

“They didn’t.”

“How do you figure?” Remus asked.

“The war ended the year before that.”

“Oh... it’s.  Oh .”

Peter found it strange that Remus hadn’t noticed how the general populace had changed. In Diagon, the wizards and witches were a lot less paranoid. Other things were different too; like the larger selection of ice-cream. But Remus also hadn’t noticed the lack of soul marks until Peter’d pointed it out, so he’d most likely just been distracted.

“It’s been over for thirteen years now.”

Remus’ first real smile spread across his face. “You’re not pulling my leg?”

“Nah.”

“That’s good,” Remus smile turned softer as he looked over the two graves. “I thought it’d never end.” The tree above them moved cheerily in the wind.

..

They didn’t know what happened to Remus’ parents. The graves didn’t mention anything, and they couldn’t find anything on the subject when they went back to the house later.

Then, after a breakfast which consisted of canned spaghetti, Remus walked outside to the graves again while Peter trailed after him.

..

There was a presence Peter felt at the back of his neck, and he sprung around in alarm. Remus quickly span around too, only slightly behind him.

A wizened old man let go of a Phoenix. Peter scrunched up his nose. Yuck, he smelt like old people. Alright, so thinking that wasn’t  mature , but  come on.