#44. Overrated
Title: Pumpkin Eater, in Which Death is Overrated
Series: Harry Potter
Spoilers: Marauder Era and then sort of not. Let's say up until Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince to be safe.
Characters: Peter Pettigrew. Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, James Potter, Bertha Jorkins also make brief appearances.
Pairing(s): None intended despite the implications of the rhyme.
Author Note: Another one that got away from me. This piece was supposed to be strictly Marauder Era and then... wow, I don't know what happened. What's most ironic to me is that I never intended to use this prompt... Oh well.
Prompt: #44 Overrated. That's 6 down 19 (or is it 44?!) more to go until December 31st.
Peter, Peter, Pumpkin Eater.
Sometimes, though not today, it was easy to tune out James' outlandish boasting, the bark of Sirius' laughter in response and Remus' quiet acceptance of the two as he nudged an omelet from one side of his plate to the other with a rolled up piece of toast.
No, today was the day where soft foods had caught his eye and no amount of chewing the raisins in his porridge could tune out the sounds he'd rather ignore.
"Whaddya say then, eh, Porkytail?" A jab quickly followed and he choked around his spoon.
"Sirius," Remus' response was immediate and his voice had an edge of warning to it, one that would have been wholly uncommon in earlier days. But before the weary boy could say anything more however, James cut in.
"Of course he's in, aren't you Wormtail," he emphasized the proper name and that incorrigible smile might've eased the ache in his side on a different day in the not so distant past; he might've even forgiven Sirius because that's what everyone does, even quiet Remus, even when Sirius (not Peter!) spilt The Secret to their worst enemy.
But he did not feel inclined to forgive them this day.
"Umm," he mumbled around his spoon which still dangled from his mouth as he swallowed, now that his coughing fit was past. Thus satisfied with a sound rather than an answer James and Sirius returned to their lively discussion while Remus lapsed into silence.
It was just another ordinary morning but already he sensed something was changing.
------------------------------
...had a wife and couldn't keep her...
Running had never been his forte, not in the athletic sense of the word.
Every breath was a burden, his calves begged for reprieve.
Still he ran.
He had to.
He skidded around another slippery corner, aware suddenly of the absurd slapping sounds his feet made on the pavement. He never could run like James, couldn't run like Sirius or Remus either.
Wheezing now, he paused to catch his breath, hands braced upon his knee.
James, James, his school idol, the be-speckled boy brimming with confidence.
James, James, everything he'd ever wanted to be in his young life.
He'd wanted to be James once.
Not anymore.
He didn't want to be dead.
That was why he was panting, why his lungs were burning with the sharp cold air, why sweat rolled down his brow and matted his hair.
And James, poor James, poor lovely Lily, the love of James' little life. Dead, dead, both were dead.
And he might be too, if Sirius found him. He picked up a run again.
But then a thought occurred to him and something changed again in his mind.
Maybe death could be used to his advantage after all.
And up ahead, wasn't that....?
Yes, yes it was.
His mind was decided.
------------------------------
...he put her in a pumpkin shell...
His heart was racing. He had to remind himself that he was the hunter now, he was just pretending to be the hunted.
It's a game, it's a game, it's like the old days with James and Remus and Sirius.
Only this time he wasn't a rat, no not this time. This time he is a man, not a boy, and instead of a stag, dog and werewolf for company he has only one other.
He peered around the trunk of a tree at the distant and hesitant form of Bertha Jorkins who was doing a poor job of creeping through the forest. Another branch snapped beneath her foot and she paused, eyes wide and searching the gloom. What went through her mind he could only guess at.
A few moments more and she crept forward, arms out like a sleepwalker and she pushed a branch away only to have it snap back and snag in her hair.
She spins, she panics, she pushes the branches away with half-sobs and she darts forward, crashing through the underbrush.
He steps out into the open and into a role because he is acting now, he will pretend to be Sirius today. He made a show of looking over his shoulder, he pretends not to see Bertha and he hurries up ahead, his feet well accustomed now to making little sound.
He smiles when she follows because he knows he's done something right.
And he knows, again, that something has changed.
He knows he doesn't need to pretend to be someone else anymore.
He can be Peter because Peter's made it this far when so many others have failed. James, Sirius, Remus... The stars, the bright ones, the ones that turned heads while Peter lagged those long three steps behind because he had never been an exceptional little boy.
Well, he was exceptional now.
He took a step forward and turned around, watching as Bertha made her way, head down, towards him.
Now he was the one that was one step ahead.
------------------------------
...and there he kept her very well...
Rows and rows of graves, as far as the eye could see. If he were nervous, he might've counted them but he wasn't nervous. Not yet anyway. Not when everything was coming together and according to plan.
But maybe James and Lily were there somewhere beneath the earth. Maybe not.
Probably not.
Definitely not.
He didn't used to like graveyards. They used to scare him, more than a little, but now he found he didn't mind so much.
The dead, he long since realized, couldn't hurt him. They couldn't judge him, call him names, or harbor ill-will against him.
They were dead and that was a simple fact which he could accept. Death was merely overrated.
After all, it was the living that he needed to be aware of. Because the living could be just as wrathful as the most wretched wraith. They could hold grudges and they could torment and they never understood him in the end, anyway.
So let the dead keep their places in the ground and let the living come at him.
He was different now and not just Peter.
He was Wormtail again, but Wormtail changed.
This didn't, however, keep him from chanting under his breath an old rhyme that was once used as a slur in the courtyard of his childhood recollections.
"Peter, Peter, pumpkin eater..."
Series: Harry Potter
Spoilers: Marauder Era and then sort of not. Let's say up until Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince to be safe.
Characters: Peter Pettigrew. Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, James Potter, Bertha Jorkins also make brief appearances.
Pairing(s): None intended despite the implications of the rhyme.
Author Note: Another one that got away from me. This piece was supposed to be strictly Marauder Era and then... wow, I don't know what happened. What's most ironic to me is that I never intended to use this prompt... Oh well.
Prompt: #44 Overrated. That's 6 down 19 (or is it 44?!) more to go until December 31st.
Peter, Peter, Pumpkin Eater.
Sometimes, though not today, it was easy to tune out James' outlandish boasting, the bark of Sirius' laughter in response and Remus' quiet acceptance of the two as he nudged an omelet from one side of his plate to the other with a rolled up piece of toast.
No, today was the day where soft foods had caught his eye and no amount of chewing the raisins in his porridge could tune out the sounds he'd rather ignore.
"Whaddya say then, eh, Porkytail?" A jab quickly followed and he choked around his spoon.
"Sirius," Remus' response was immediate and his voice had an edge of warning to it, one that would have been wholly uncommon in earlier days. But before the weary boy could say anything more however, James cut in.
"Of course he's in, aren't you Wormtail," he emphasized the proper name and that incorrigible smile might've eased the ache in his side on a different day in the not so distant past; he might've even forgiven Sirius because that's what everyone does, even quiet Remus, even when Sirius (not Peter!) spilt The Secret to their worst enemy.
But he did not feel inclined to forgive them this day.
"Umm," he mumbled around his spoon which still dangled from his mouth as he swallowed, now that his coughing fit was past. Thus satisfied with a sound rather than an answer James and Sirius returned to their lively discussion while Remus lapsed into silence.
It was just another ordinary morning but already he sensed something was changing.
------------------------------
...had a wife and couldn't keep her...
Running had never been his forte, not in the athletic sense of the word.
Every breath was a burden, his calves begged for reprieve.
Still he ran.
He had to.
He skidded around another slippery corner, aware suddenly of the absurd slapping sounds his feet made on the pavement. He never could run like James, couldn't run like Sirius or Remus either.
Wheezing now, he paused to catch his breath, hands braced upon his knee.
James, James, his school idol, the be-speckled boy brimming with confidence.
James, James, everything he'd ever wanted to be in his young life.
He'd wanted to be James once.
Not anymore.
He didn't want to be dead.
That was why he was panting, why his lungs were burning with the sharp cold air, why sweat rolled down his brow and matted his hair.
And James, poor James, poor lovely Lily, the love of James' little life. Dead, dead, both were dead.
And he might be too, if Sirius found him. He picked up a run again.
But then a thought occurred to him and something changed again in his mind.
Maybe death could be used to his advantage after all.
And up ahead, wasn't that....?
Yes, yes it was.
His mind was decided.
------------------------------
...he put her in a pumpkin shell...
His heart was racing. He had to remind himself that he was the hunter now, he was just pretending to be the hunted.
It's a game, it's a game, it's like the old days with James and Remus and Sirius.
Only this time he wasn't a rat, no not this time. This time he is a man, not a boy, and instead of a stag, dog and werewolf for company he has only one other.
He peered around the trunk of a tree at the distant and hesitant form of Bertha Jorkins who was doing a poor job of creeping through the forest. Another branch snapped beneath her foot and she paused, eyes wide and searching the gloom. What went through her mind he could only guess at.
A few moments more and she crept forward, arms out like a sleepwalker and she pushed a branch away only to have it snap back and snag in her hair.
She spins, she panics, she pushes the branches away with half-sobs and she darts forward, crashing through the underbrush.
He steps out into the open and into a role because he is acting now, he will pretend to be Sirius today. He made a show of looking over his shoulder, he pretends not to see Bertha and he hurries up ahead, his feet well accustomed now to making little sound.
He smiles when she follows because he knows he's done something right.
And he knows, again, that something has changed.
He knows he doesn't need to pretend to be someone else anymore.
He can be Peter because Peter's made it this far when so many others have failed. James, Sirius, Remus... The stars, the bright ones, the ones that turned heads while Peter lagged those long three steps behind because he had never been an exceptional little boy.
Well, he was exceptional now.
He took a step forward and turned around, watching as Bertha made her way, head down, towards him.
Now he was the one that was one step ahead.
------------------------------
...and there he kept her very well...
Rows and rows of graves, as far as the eye could see. If he were nervous, he might've counted them but he wasn't nervous. Not yet anyway. Not when everything was coming together and according to plan.
But maybe James and Lily were there somewhere beneath the earth. Maybe not.
Probably not.
Definitely not.
He didn't used to like graveyards. They used to scare him, more than a little, but now he found he didn't mind so much.
The dead, he long since realized, couldn't hurt him. They couldn't judge him, call him names, or harbor ill-will against him.
They were dead and that was a simple fact which he could accept. Death was merely overrated.
After all, it was the living that he needed to be aware of. Because the living could be just as wrathful as the most wretched wraith. They could hold grudges and they could torment and they never understood him in the end, anyway.
So let the dead keep their places in the ground and let the living come at him.
He was different now and not just Peter.
He was Wormtail again, but Wormtail changed.
This didn't, however, keep him from chanting under his breath an old rhyme that was once used as a slur in the courtyard of his childhood recollections.
"Peter, Peter, pumpkin eater..."