bet you never thought.
peter pettigrew doesn't believe in stories.
(not anymore, anyways.)
.
if he thinks back, digs hard enough into his memory for something squishy and soft instead of burnt at the corners and black all the way through, he remembers his mother, remembers her peroxide blonde curls and thick ankles and nervous teeth.
there are blankets and dirty things in their Manchester flat, and beds that creak when he rolls around at night, but there are also chocolate frogs and building blocks and picture-books about knights and dragons that move - swing their lances and breathe hot fire and come to life - when he reads (albeit haltingly) the words aloud.
he decides right there and then that when he grows up, he wants to be a knight - wants to ride in on a white steed and battle the evil dragon, save the beautiful princess from her rose-coloured tower.
mum used to laugh and say he'd make a better squire than a knight, do a better job of polishing shields and talking to horses on the sidelines than rushing into danger and getting himself into too much trouble for his own good.
(she was wrong; he's made a mess of that now, too.)
.
he hates lily, sort of. it takes him nearly six or seven years to finally realize this, but then again he's always been kind of slow on the uptake. except nobody hates lily evans, so peter keeps this a jealously-guarded secret - hides it away in a chinese box and swallows the key for a rainy day.
(against the midday sun, james potter's shoulders stretch out for miles.)
sirius black snickers behind peter's shoulders and says something biting (peter can't remember anymore what exactly, but sirius black has never exactly been kind to peter pettigrew, so every conversation that has transpired between them has consisted of verbal abuse on sirius' part to one extent or another), something about get a good look? and there's that ruthless pity ticking at the corners of his mouth that makes peter want to take the champagne flute inside his hand and smash it against sirius' neck.
(he doesn't, of course. peter has always been good at burying his emotions.)
it occurs to him only now that sirius had been talking about lily, not james.
.
he can't remember where it all started, really.
if he could, maybe he would've stopped.
if he could, maybe he would've tried to start all over again.
.
nobody ever thinks they're a bad person, remus explains to him one day when it's just the two of them because james and sirius are off in detention after the execution of a brilliant prank that has excluded remus and himself. everybody thinks there's a reason, some sort of justification for whatever bad thing they end up doing, even if they know they're doing a bad thing.
you're wrong, peter wants to reply. there's no such thing as good or bad to begin with, only power, and people too weak to seek it.
peter knows he's right. but it's not the right sort of thing to say, especially not now, and it would reveal too much - so peter zips his lips and thinks he may feel a little sorry for remus after all, sorry that remus can't see the greater truth hiding out there in plain sight behind the invisible web of white lies that hold together polite society and make it impossible for either of them to move forward.
except peter - well, peter's got a friend now, doesn't he? somebody to tell him about the way the world really works, somebody to finally give him what he deserves after staying in james' and sirius' shadows for far too long.
it's too late for remus already (remus belongs to potter and black), but peter hasn't lost faith in himself just yet.
.
power and weakness.
peter realizes this now.
knight and dragon.
good and evil, his mother had said, kissing him on the temple after his daily bedtime story. good always wins in the end, you know.
(peter watches the flash of green behind the hood of his cloak and remembers to breathe.)
fucking bullshit.
(not anymore, anyways.)
.
if he thinks back, digs hard enough into his memory for something squishy and soft instead of burnt at the corners and black all the way through, he remembers his mother, remembers her peroxide blonde curls and thick ankles and nervous teeth.
there are blankets and dirty things in their Manchester flat, and beds that creak when he rolls around at night, but there are also chocolate frogs and building blocks and picture-books about knights and dragons that move - swing their lances and breathe hot fire and come to life - when he reads (albeit haltingly) the words aloud.
he decides right there and then that when he grows up, he wants to be a knight - wants to ride in on a white steed and battle the evil dragon, save the beautiful princess from her rose-coloured tower.
mum used to laugh and say he'd make a better squire than a knight, do a better job of polishing shields and talking to horses on the sidelines than rushing into danger and getting himself into too much trouble for his own good.
(she was wrong; he's made a mess of that now, too.)
.
he hates lily, sort of. it takes him nearly six or seven years to finally realize this, but then again he's always been kind of slow on the uptake. except nobody hates lily evans, so peter keeps this a jealously-guarded secret - hides it away in a chinese box and swallows the key for a rainy day.
(against the midday sun, james potter's shoulders stretch out for miles.)
sirius black snickers behind peter's shoulders and says something biting (peter can't remember anymore what exactly, but sirius black has never exactly been kind to peter pettigrew, so every conversation that has transpired between them has consisted of verbal abuse on sirius' part to one extent or another), something about get a good look? and there's that ruthless pity ticking at the corners of his mouth that makes peter want to take the champagne flute inside his hand and smash it against sirius' neck.
(he doesn't, of course. peter has always been good at burying his emotions.)
it occurs to him only now that sirius had been talking about lily, not james.
.
he can't remember where it all started, really.
if he could, maybe he would've stopped.
if he could, maybe he would've tried to start all over again.
.
nobody ever thinks they're a bad person, remus explains to him one day when it's just the two of them because james and sirius are off in detention after the execution of a brilliant prank that has excluded remus and himself. everybody thinks there's a reason, some sort of justification for whatever bad thing they end up doing, even if they know they're doing a bad thing.
you're wrong, peter wants to reply. there's no such thing as good or bad to begin with, only power, and people too weak to seek it.
peter knows he's right. but it's not the right sort of thing to say, especially not now, and it would reveal too much - so peter zips his lips and thinks he may feel a little sorry for remus after all, sorry that remus can't see the greater truth hiding out there in plain sight behind the invisible web of white lies that hold together polite society and make it impossible for either of them to move forward.
except peter - well, peter's got a friend now, doesn't he? somebody to tell him about the way the world really works, somebody to finally give him what he deserves after staying in james' and sirius' shadows for far too long.
it's too late for remus already (remus belongs to potter and black), but peter hasn't lost faith in himself just yet.
.
power and weakness.
peter realizes this now.
knight and dragon.
good and evil, his mother had said, kissing him on the temple after his daily bedtime story. good always wins in the end, you know.
(peter watches the flash of green behind the hood of his cloak and remembers to breathe.)
fucking bullshit.