Work Text:
Peter was running.
Racing, weaving through crowds of feet and empty hallways alike.
(It was some of his better work, if he did say so himself.)
(It made him think of racing after a different messy head of black hair, testing out new quidditch drills or chasing each other to the Shack on full moons — which made him remember it was Halloween and no, not now)
The kids had come back from a midnight adventure with whispers of a three-headed dog and a trapdoor, and he’d vowed to keep a closer eye on them, though today it had been just as much to beat back his own ghosts than to protect Harry from his.
Tucking himself into Ron’s bag had been the right call, he knew, right up until it was unceremoniously dumped on Neville and Ron and Harry went running towards the danger, instead of away from it.
Cursing the Potter bloodline— not for the first time— he dodged a near trampling by a crowd of older Ravenclaws before skidding to a stop.
He didn’t need to give chase anymore.
He’d caught up to the boys, and the boys had found the troll.
The boys who were bravely (foolishly) not running away, but trapping the troll away in— that wasn’t a broom cupboard. Peter realized the same moment Hermione did, her shrill scream from inside the bathroom jolting Harry and Ron into opening the door again.
Peter had a split second to wish that his animagus form had come with the power and size he didn’t have as a human, that he might throw himself, as James or Sirius might have, in between the boys and their stupid, stupid act of chivalry before they got themselves killed.
He debated the merits of going for help— if only he still had the map— but no, even if he could find someone trustworthy enough to help, his own presence would negate it, prompt questions he couldn’t answer.
The door was swinging shut, Peter had only a moment to decide.
We’re brothers. We take care of our own. James’s voice echoed in his mind, a long ago conversation about a very different type of beast, but the message was the same: no one looks out for us better than we do.
He’d fucked that up before, he knew, biting back the grief. James might have said something different if he’d known what the future held. But James would also want his son to live, to survive his first year without being smashed to bits by a troll he had no business facing.
He was out of time. Even if it was the wrong decision, even if he fucked it up again, even if everything fell apart even more than it had before, this was something he had to do.
Mind made up, Peter slipped inside, so close he nearly caught his tail in the door.
The bathroom was a disaster. The troll had shattered the sinks along the wall, spraying water and debris. Hermione was trapped against the far wall; despite the boys’ attempts at distraction and Harry’s desperate calling for her to run, Peter could see no path clear of both frantic troll and obstruction.
It turned towards Ron, then, and Peter had a split second to consider his options— any chance of tripping the troll without collateral, or luring Harry away and consoling him on the loss of his newfound best friend— before Harry made the choice for him and did something so brave and so stupid it put nearly everything they’d done in seven years of school to shame.
With a great running leap (and an odd, bellowing call), Harry threw himself at the troll’s back and jabbed his wand straight into the troll’s sinuses.
The troll bucked, arms flailing and batting at its face, nearly flinging Harry off and into the stalls behind him.
Without thinking, without considering how it might all go wrong again, Peter transformed just in time to watch Ron levitate the troll’s club out of its hand.
Peter shot the most powerful stunner he could muster at its chest. Ron yelped and the club dropped, falling straight onto the troll’s head. It wobbled once, twice, and— before it could fall backwards and crush Harry or Hermione— Peter kicked hard at its right knee and it fell face first into the ground with a sickening thud.
All three kids looked at Peter in shock, and not, as he felt was warranted, at the newly stunned troll dominating the room.
“Who are you?” Harry asked.
A clatter sounded from down the hallway, making Peter jump.
“As far as anyone’s concerned, it was Ron’s quick thinking that saved you,” he said, glancing quickly at each of them. “Good job. Try to make it to Christmas without doing it again.”
Out of time, he transformed into Wormtail and disappeared into the walls just as the door flew open.