the years of the rat (1/3)
Dear god, the peter!fic is finally finished. It only took fifteen months. Please do give it a chance, if you like the Marauders, even if you don't much care for Peter Pettigrew. :)
The Years of the Rat
by kaydee falls
Pairings: Peter gen, also Remus/Sirius, James/Lily
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: not mine, no profit, don't sue. Includes quotes taken from the Chinese Zodiac and the Oxford English Dictionary's definitions of the word "rat"
Notes: Huge thanks and hugs to msilverstar for the incredibly patient and thorough beta.
Chinese Zodiac: Rats are imaginative, charming, and truly generous to the person they love. However, they have a tendency to be quick-tempered and overly critical. They are also inclined to be somewhat of an opportunist.
Year 1
Chinese Zodiac, rat: "somewhat of an opportunist."
Peter's parents had thought he was a Squib for years. He'd never shown any particular affinity for or even interest in magic, and as a child, he'd always played with the Muggle boys in the village, instinctively shying away from the four or five other children of wizarding families.
But Peter knew he wasn't a Squib. He stole his father's wand some nights and made it sparkle and spurt. Once he pointed it at a turtle his friend Jack found in the fishpond and made up some words. The turtle turned bright orange.
Peter learned from an early age that magic was about intent first and foremost. If you wanted something badly enough, you could make it happen even if you didn't know the right spells.
Peter learned from an early age that you could get away with almost anything if the grownups thought you were dull and stupid.
Peter learned from an early age that he was much cleverer than most of the people around him, and that was a delicious secret he hugged tight to himself and giggled about alone in his bed at night. Peter liked secrets. He always had. He just liked knowing things that no one else knew, whether they were important or not. It made him feel powerful.
So when the letter from Hogwarts came, the summer he turned eleven, he pretended to be just as surprised as anyone else, and once his parents went to bed, he laughed until he was nearly sick.
*
At Platform 9 and ¾, Peter listened with half an ear as his father went on and on about how wonderful Hogwarts was and how much Peter would love it and "remember, your mother and I will love you no matter what house you get sorted into, so don't be frightened." Peter smiled blandly. He hadn't thought much about the house system yet, but he knew his parents expected him to wind up in Hufflepuff.
"Pettigrew," someone said in a steely voice. Peter's father turned and beamed ridiculously at a tall, imposing wizard with a stern face and dark hair.
"Rosier, old chap!" Peter's father exclaimed delightedly, shaking the man's hand with no small enthusiasm. "My god, it's been years!"
Rosier smiled. It was almost a friendly smile, but it oozed condescension. "Your son, I suppose?"
"Oh, yes, this is my lad Peter, just starting his first year! Petey, this is an old friend of mine, from school."
Peter smiled and shook Rosier's hand obediently. Rosier had the coldest eyes Peter had ever seen, and Peter suppressed a shudder at the full icy force of that gaze turned on him.
"My son, Evan," Rosier said, indicating a boy several inches taller than Peter, with his father's dark hair and cold eyes. He smirked at Peter. "Also just starting at Hogwarts."
As their fathers talked, Evan and Peter just looked at each other, silently sizing each other up. Peter made sure to smile too widely and shrink down just a bit more. The Rosiers were clearly a better family, of higher status than the Pettigrews. People like that tended to like Peter only inasmuch as he reinforced their own perceived superiority, and he did want to be liked. "So what house d'you think you'll end up in?" Peter asked, breaking the silence.
Evan rolled his eyes. "Slytherin, of course, like my father."
"Oh," Peter said. He picked at his sleeves. "Do most people take after their parents, then? In the sorting, I mean."
"No, only in the good families." Another smirk.
"Oh." Clearly, Peter shouldn't have just overlooked the house distinctions. The sorting was more important than his parents had led him to believe. Once on the train, he spent much of the trip listening to a third-year girl explain the house system to a couple of Muggleborns and deciding what house he wanted to be placed into.
If Evan Rosier was to be believed, Slytherin was a good house to be in. Lots of powerful, pureblood wizards came out of Slytherin. Peter would have plenty of people to kiss up to, to make good connections with. But on the other hand, Slytherins were expected to be sneaky and ambitious, which Peter thought was a really stupid way to go about it. If everyone thinks you're sneaky, they'll be keeping an eye on you, and you can't sneak particularly well when you're being watched all the time. Besides, Slytherins had a tendency to go into the Dark Arts, and while Peter liked power, he didn't want to be evil. So Slytherin was probably out.
Ravenclaws were too clever by half; he couldn't pull his usual dull-and-stupid act if he went into Ravenclaw, and because they were so intelligent, Ravenclaws were probably a bit suspicious by nature. Besides, power didn't come out of reading a lot of books all the time; power came out of practical application, and most Ravenclaws were far too devoted to their studies to actually do much with them.
Hufflepuff would be ideal for the dull-and-stupid act, and his parents certainly expected him to be sorted there, but there was something about it that put Peter off. After all, being surrounded by a bunch of twits for seven years probably wasn't a good way to actually learn anything on your own. Furthermore, Hufflepuffs rarely went very far after graduation, usually finding themselves cheerfully stuck in low-level Ministry jobs, and that just wouldn't do. A good portion of power was influence, and influence primarily came from connections, and Peter probably wouldn't make any good connections in Hufflepuff. Nothing useful, anyway.
Which left Gryffindor, and after considering it for a while, Peter decided that this wasn't half bad. Gryffindors were supposed to be brave above all else - not necessarily intelligent, though, and there seemed to be a sort of brawn-not-brains quality to the house. And bravery was such an intangible quality; even a dull and stupid boy like Peter Pettigrew might possess it. Besides, his father had been in Gryffindor, so if anyone thought his placement odd, they would chalk it up to family lines. And Gryffindors often did great things after graduation; knowing them wouldn't hurt a bit.
So when it was his turn with the Sorting Hat, Peter just thought hard about Gryffindor, and how he wasn't really smart but he'd like to be brave, to be somebody, my dad was Gryffindor and he's the most incredible person I know, if only I could fill his shoes, won't you please give me a chance Mr. Hat?
"Gryffindor!" the hat shouted, and Peter hid a secret smile. After all, the most important thing about magic is intent, and if you want something badly enough, you can make it happen.
*
There were five other Gryffindor boys in his year. Peter was sure he'd been introduced to them at some point, but he'd also been introduced to everyone else in the entire house, so he was a bit hazy on names. Besides, he'd lived in a small coastal village all his life, where he'd known everyone by sight and hadn't had to learn a new name since he was five. Hogwarts didn't intimidate him, but it would take some getting used to.
The largest of the first year Gryffindors was a dark-haired, good-looking chap who had quickly established himself as leader of the pack. He lounged decadently on his bed with the air of someone accustomed to privilege and power, exuding confidence. The others instinctively gathered around him, looking to him for conversation and approval. Peter followed suit, the quiet pale shadow in the corner of the dormitory.
"I wish first years could go out for Quidditch," the large boy was saying. "I left my broom at home with my little brother; he'll probably destroy it by Christmas."
"What kind of broom do you have?" a blond-haired boy asked. Peter thought his family name might have been Dearborn, with a funny-sounding first name. "My dad bought me the new Shooting Star over the summer."
The large boy scoffed at this. "Shooting Stars aren't so great," he said. "My uncle Alphard says they'll be out of business in ten years, tops. I've got a Nimbus," he added proudly. "It's loads faster than any Shooting Star."
Dearborn scowled at him. "Nimbuses aren't anywhere near as agile, though. They'll dump you halfway through a spin."
"Yeah?" The boy raised an eyebrow mischievously. "Willing to put good Galleons on it? I'll bet I can fly circles around you. Or I would if I had my broom here." He looked out at the other boys. "What do you lads think, Nimbus or Shooting Star?"
Peter and another boy agreed that the Nimbus was better, although a boy with messy black hair and round glasses voted staunchly for the Shooting Star. The sixth boy in the room remained silent. The large boy gave him a pointed look. "What, no opinion, Lupin?"
"I've never been on a broom," Lupin said quietly. "So I suppose I wouldn't know the difference."
The five boys stared at him. "Never been on a broom?" the leader said incredulously. "What, do you live under a rock?"
Lupin ran a hand through his brown hair self-consciously. He was a pale, skinny boy, the sort who probably never spent much time outdoors. "My parents think it's too dangerous," Lupin said. Too pale, Peter decided. Sickly, maybe? Sick boys tend to have overprotective parents. "Besides," Lupin continued, "my mum's a Muggle, and she doesn't much take to Wizarding sports. She says they're uncivilized."
The large boy let out a surprised laugh. "A Mudblood, then!" he cried delightedly. "Oh, my mother would have fits if she knew I was rooming with you, Lupin!"
The rest of the dorm fell silent. Lupin stared at the floor.
"I wouldn't go around insulting other people's bloodlines, Black," the bespectacled boy hissed. "I know all about your family. Toujours pur and all that rot, right?"
The large boy - Black - shifted uncomfortably. "Shut up, Potter."
"His family's all Slytherin," Potter told the other boys. "Dark wizards, the lot of them. You can tell by the name."
"I said shut up," Black hissed.
"Are you spying on us Gryffindors?" Potter pressed him relentlessly. "Is that what you are, a Slytherin spy?"
"I'm no one's spy, and I'm not a bloody Slytherin!" Black yelled, jumping off the bed and pulling out his wand. Potter responded in kind. For a few long seconds, they remained frozen in a silent face-off.
"Apologize to Remus here," Potter finally said.
Black glared at him venomously, but slowly lowered his wand. "I'm sorry, Lupin," he said, although his eyes never left Potter. "I meant no offense."
Lupin coughed, his face flushed red. "None taken."
"All right, then," Potter said, and tucked his wand back into his robes. The tension dissipated eventually, as the boys all awkwardly made their way to their respective beds.
Potter is the more powerful one, Peter thought to himself as he pushed back his bedclothes. He'd been surprised by the result of the minor skirmish. Black makes a better show of himself, but Potter's the stronger of the two.
I'll remember that.
*
They were eating breakfast in the Great Hall the next day when the owl came. It dropped a big red envelope right in the middle of Black's plate, scorching his eggs.
"Better open it," Dearborn advised, inching his own plate of breakfast away from Black's. "You're likely to get a face full of eggs, otherwise."
"How d'you suppose he's gotten in trouble already?" Potter murmured, a wicked glint in his eyes.
Black ignored them, eying the Howler with something like resignation. He took a deep breath and slit the envelope with his butter knife.
"HOW DARE YOU BESMIRCH YOUR FAMILY NAME IN THIS WAY?" the Howler screeched. Most of the Gryffindors had their hands over their ears. "A SON OF MINE IN GRYFFINDOR! I'LL HAVE YOU EXPELLED! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, CONSORTING WITH GRYFFINDOR FILTH?!" A few of the other boys shot Black dirty looks.
Potter smirked openly.
The Howler's tirade went on for several more minutes. Most of the Gryffindor table got tired of its ranting and abandoned their breakfasts in disgust. But Black remained, staring grimly into space and letting the thing wear itself out.
The only Gryffindors left by the end of breakfast were Potter, Lupin, Peter, and of course Black, who was tersely informing the owl to go home, "and no, I'm not sending the old bat a message, so bugger off."
"How's your mum doing, Black?" one of the Slytherins called over, sniggering. Another deliberately knocked Black's glass of juice into his lap as she left the Hall. Black endured the taunting in silence, stonily mopping up the spilt juice.
Potter gave him one long, inscrutable look, then turned and left. Dearborn and Fenwick, the other first-year Gryffindor boys, were waiting for him just outside the Hall. The trio went off to class together, laughing.
Black looked across the table at Lupin and Peter. He grinned crookedly. "Parents, eh?"
Peter exchanged a glance with Lupin. After a moment, they looked back at Black and nodded as if they understood.
Later that morning, Black offered Lupin an embarrassed but genuine apology for the whole Mudblood thing, and offered to shake on it. Lupin eyed his outstretched hand in surprise, then hesitantly clasped it in his own.
It was an awkward handshake, but it was a start.
Year 2
OED, rat: n. slang (orig. U.S.). Used ironically in pl. to express incredulity: ‘humbug’, ‘nonsense’.
"I think I know where Lupin goes every month."
Peter nearly choked on a chocolate frog, which took advantage of his distress by hopping out of his mouth and halfway across the dormitory. Sirius calmly leaned over and grabbed it as it leapt past his bed. He tossed it back over to Peter, who caught it rather messily and ate it with a vengeance. Neither of them looked at Potter, still standing alone in the doorway.
"You heard me," Potter said angrily, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Stop pretending you didn't."
"You're daft," Sirius said. "You don't know anything."
"Piss off, Black. I was talking to Pettigrew, anyway." Potter took a step towards Peter's bed. "Seriously, Pettigrew, I think I know where he goes every month."
Sirius stood and stepped between the two boys, bristling. "Shut up, Potter. How would you know more about Remus than me or Peter? We're his friends."
Potter raised an eyebrow. "If you were really his friend, you'd want to know what I know. But you're not. Pettigrew here is; that's why I was talking to him." He turned back to Peter. "You want to hear me out, don't you, Pettigrew?"
Sirius grabbed the front of Potter's robes. Potter didn't even flinch. "What do you mean, I'm not Remus's friend? What makes you think Peter cares more about him than I do?" Peter stiffened a bit at that, face flushing, but swallowed back his retort.
Potter smiled coldly and calmly pushed Sirius away. "Because you're an arrogant arse who can't even be buggered to check in on your own mates when they go missing once a month. I hardly know Lupin and I've been worried about him. It's not natural to play Houdini that often."
This made Sirius pause, at least for a second. "What's a Houdini?"
Potter rolled his eyes. "Famous Muggle magician. I'm not surprised you don't know. You're so purebred you probably grew up thinking Muggles were just fairy tales."
Sirius's eyes glittered dangerously and he took a menacing step forward. Potter smirked and reached into his pocket for his wand.
"Hey," Peter said. They ignored him. "Oi, listen to me!"
Sirius reached for his own wand.
Peter stood and stomped his foot. "You're both idiots. Stop it." And amazingly, they did - or at least stopped glaring at each other and looked at him, which was a promising start. "Potter, what do you think you know about Remus?"
"He's a werewolf."
Without hesitation, Sirius and Peter had their wands out. Peter shot off a spell to yank the door shut and locked as Sirius cast a silencing charm on the room. And Potter suddenly found himself with two wands shoved in his face and not the slightest chance of defending himself. Not that any of them had learned much in the way of dueling yet, but it couldn't have been a comfortable position for him.
"You ever tell anyone else a filthy lie like that," Sirius hissed, "and I'll glue you to your broom and send you straight into the Whomping Willow."
"Are you mad?" Peter added. "Do you know what would happen to Remus if even a stupid rumor like that got around? He'd be expelled!"
"And besides, it's absolute nonsense," Sirius said. "A werewolf, in Hogwarts! Don't be absurd."
Potter took a step back. "Just listen to me," he said.
"No!" Sirius yelled. "You're lying! You're trying to get Remus in trouble!"
"Why is he missing every month?" Potter persisted. "And always around the full moon, did you notice?"
"Get out of here," Sirius growled. "And don't you dare mention this to anyone. Anyone!"
Potter glanced over at Peter, who just kept his wand fixed on him, unwavering. "Fine," he said, turning towards the door. "But I'm not lying. Remus is in the hospital wing." His attempt at a dramatic exit was spoiled when he had to tug at the door futilely for half a minute until Peter remembered to unlock it.
Once Potter was gone, Peter and Sirius just stared at each other in silence for a few long moments. "If Remus really is in the hospital wing, we should go check up on him," Sirius said finally.
"What if he's right?" Peter asked. "If Remus is really a werewolf, we might be in danger."
Sirius grabbed him by the front of his robes. "Remus is not a werewolf," he snarled. "And if you ever mention a word of this to anyone, I'll kill you. We're his friends. We never betray each other, never. Understand?" Peter nodded hastily, and was released. Sirius straightened his collar. "Whose side are you on, Peter? Ours or Potter's?"
"Yours," Peter said quickly. "You know I'm on your side, Sirius."
Because Potter might be the stronger one, but he'd never actually hurt Peter. Sirius might.
*
In the hospital wing, Remus saw them before they saw him. He shrank under the sheets. "Get out," he said frantically. "Get out before Pomfrey sees you!"
"Remus-" Peter started.
Remus looked close to tears. "You're not supposed to be here! Go away!"
Sirius walked up to the bed and deliberately tugged the sheets away from Remus. Remus shrank even smaller, if that was possible, as if he could disappear if he tried hard enough.
Sirius and Peter just stared.
"Remus," Sirius said finally, horrified, "what happened to you?"
His body was a mess of bandages, some bloodstained. What little of his skin they could see - his shoulders and some stomach - was covered with painful-looking scratches. One long scar ran from his neck to somewhere under the swath of bandages - what looked like the end of it poked out on his left hip. He had a large purple bruise on his jaw.
Peter swallowed hard. "I hope the other bloke looks worse," he said lightly. The joke fell flat. Remus just stared at his hands, and Sirius didn't even appear to have heard.
"Remus," Sirius said softly.
"It's nothing, really," Remus said, shaking. "Honest, just an accident. I'm okay, stupid of me really, I-"
"He had a bit of a run-in with the Whomping Willow," someone said dryly. Peter whirled around guiltily - which made no sense, really, what did he have to feel guilty about? - to see Madam Pomfrey standing in the doorway. "There's a reason it's restricted, and that's a lesson for all of you. Now, Mr. Black, Mr. Pettigrew, I must insist that you return to your dormitory. It's getting late."
Peter and Sirius allowed themselves to be shooed out of the infirmary. "Whomping Willow?" Peter muttered.
"No tree did that," Sirius said. "Trees don't have claws."
"Not even the Willow," Peter agreed. He looked up at Sirius. "Now what?"
Sirius stared off into space. His mouth was set in a grim line. "I think we need to have a chat with Potter."
*
"Did she ask you why you needed to borrow her Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook?" Peter asked worriedly.
"Don't worry about it," Sirius said. He smiled humorlessly. "Narcissa probably thinks this is a sign that I'm planning on returning to the dark side."
"I found some stuff in the library," Potter added. "Still haven't figured out a way into the Restricted Section, alas."
"You haven't?" Sirius said. "You're a twit, then. There's a passage-"
"We're here to study," Peter interrupted nervously. "It's nearly dawn. What if someone comes down to the common room early and finds us?"
Sirius snorted. "What if?"
"They'll see all these-" he waved his arms about to imply all manner of Dark materials "-books!"
"There's nothing bad here," Sirius said disdainfully. "Not a single scrap of restricted parchment."
"Some people do study on their own, you know," Potter added dismissively.
"Third year Defense textbooks?"
"So we're advanced." Sirius plopped down into an armchair and deliberately opened the textbook. "Last chapter, right?"
"Think so," Potter agreed, reaching for the first book in his stack. "Here, Pettigrew, I think this one might have something on werewolves in it somewhere."
Something occurred to Peter. "Hey, Potter, you said you knew where Remus went every month. So where does he go to…change?"
Potter shifted the books on his lap uncomfortably. "Well, I meant...generally. I'm not sure where he changes. I tried to figure that part out - I worked out a sort of tracking spell, but I'm not sure what to ground it with."
Sirius looked up. "Oh, that's easy," he said unexpectedly. "My mum taught us that when we were little, in case we ever got separated from her…here, all you need is a bit of parchment..." He ripped off a bit of the scroll he'd started to take notes on and began drawing a little diagram. "Look, we know he's in the hospital wing now, so it's a good test. See, here's the infirmary - the halls around it - all right, I'll draw up a rough plot of that part of the first floor-" He sketched out little rectangular rooms. He had a surprisingly neat hand for drawing, Peter noticed. "Then you link the map to the castle - there's a wicked spell for it." He touched the tip of his wand to the parchment and rattled off a string of words Peter didn't recognize. They didn't sound like Latin, and Peter wondered uneasily just what sort of magic Mrs. Black had taught her sons.
As Sirius recited the spell, the lines of the diagram shifted around slightly, correcting proportions to match the hospital wing's actual floor plan. Potter and Peter leaned forward, staring. Sirius didn't seem to notice their rapt attention. "So now we add your tracking spell, Potter. Here, I'll draw Remus up here in the corner." He scribbled a small stick figure outside the realm of the map. "You can use any symbol you want for him, or even a little box with his name written in. Just touch your wand to it and ground the spell."
Peter had no idea what Sirius meant by this, but apparently Potter knew better. He nodded and followed Sirius's direction, reciting a brief incantation of his own. This one was Latin, at least, which lessened Peter's discomfort a bit.
"Okay," Sirius said, when Potter was finished. "Now all I have to do is connect your spell to my map." Another strange spell. Greek, maybe? No, the words felt darker, somehow. More ancient.
The stick figure vanished from its corner and reappeared on the crude map, lying complacently in the infirmary rectangle. It twitched slightly.
"There," Sirius said triumphantly. "Now, all we have to do is sketch out a rough map of the castle grounds next full moon, and see where he goes. Your tracking spell was the difficult bit, Potter - attaching it to a map is easy."
"Easy enough when you've got Dark wizards in your family tree," Peter muttered. They ignored him.
He and Sirius opened their books and started reading. But Potter stared at the map for a while with a curious, intense expression. He didn't say another word.
Just as the sun's first rays crept over the windowsill, the entry to the common room swung open. Remus slipped through noiselessly, then froze in his tracks.
"Hi," Peter said uncomfortably. "You're feeling better already, well done - look lads, it's Remus..."
"What are you doing down here so early?" Remus asked. He forced a smile and walked over to them. "Sirius Black, studying? I never thought I'd see the-"
He saw the book open on Sirius's lap.
"Er," Sirius said. "While to the untrained eye, this may appear to be the werewolf chapter in the third-year textbook, it is actually, in fact, one of Bella's dirty mags."
Remus looked understandably terrified. "Who…who knows?"
"Just the three of us," Sirius said quickly. "It's okay, Remus. It doesn't bother us. We're still your friends."
"You won't…" Remus swallowed hard. His hands were shaking visibly. "You won't tell anyone, will you?"
"Never," James said firmly. "No one else will ever know."
They didn't give themselves a proper name until a few months later, when they overheard a livid Filch refer to them as "those undisciplined marauding beast-children." But that was when they became the Marauders, anyway.
Year 3
OED, rat: n. …Also as a general expression of disgust, annoyance, etc.
"God, Peter!" Sirius yelled. "Why are you such an idiot?"
"I said I was sorry!" Peter said, cringing. "I didn't know!"
James put a hand on Sirius's shoulder. "Calm down-"
Sirius shook him off. "Did you see what he did? Did you? He completely messed up everything!" He stormed out of the dormitory. James rolled his eyes and went after him.
The room was resoundingly silent in the vacuum created by Sirius's dramatic exit. "It was just fireworks," Peter squeaked into the silence. "I didn't know that he'd planned to-"
"Well, that's his fault for not letting you in on the prank," Remus said reasonably. He was rummaging around under his bed. "Now where did I…ah!" He emerged triumphantly, bearing an innocuous bag of something or other. "Want a chocolate?"
The bag contained sweets, apparently. Peter accepted the offered chocolate with as much dignity as he could manage. "Why didn't he just tell me?"
"Because you're absolute rubbish at Charms," Remus said cheerfully, "and he was sure you'd muck things up somehow if you were in on it."
"Looks like I managed anyway," Peter grumbled. "I'm not as stupid as he thinks I am."
Remus gave him an inscrutable look. "I know. You're loads better than me at Potions, at least."
"That's not saying much."
Remus threw a chocolate at Peter's head.
*
Peter tried to grab James after Potions. "Look, can't you talk to him for me? I just wanted to-"
James shook him off disinterestedly. "He'll come around eventually."
"I know, but I thought if you-"
"Give over, I'm not kissing up to Sirius for you."
Peter frowned. "I offered to do his Astronomy homework, to make it up to him, but he wouldn't even listen to me."
James nearly fell over himself laughing, and several of the nearby portraits joined in, carried away by his mirth. "I'm not surprised," he managed. "You? Doing Sirius's assignment? You'd completely bollocks it up, what sort of apology is that?"
Peter flushed. He wanted to protest that he really wasn't at all bad at Astronomy, but the words wouldn't come.
"Oi, Potter, you coming?" a fifth-year boy called over, heading down the corridor with a couple of other lads from the Gryffindor Quidditch team.
"Listen," James told Peter vaguely, heading over to join them, "just leave it be. I've got Quidditch practice, I'll see you later, all right?"
"Sure," Peter mumbled, but James was already gone. Other students, in pairs and groups, shoved past him, totally indifferent to the small, chubby boy standing alone in the middle of the corridor.
*
Peter spent most of Transfigurations trying to think up a way to provoke some response out of Sirius, to no avail. Finally, in desperation, he wrote a rather pathetic and long-winded apology on a scrap of parchment - if nothing else, he knew how to be a good arse-kisser - and charmed it to scurry across the floor like some sort of little rodent and slip into the pocket of Sirius's robe.
Well, that was the plan, anyway, but as the note-mouse wound its way around one of the Slytherins' desks, Evan Rosier stuck his foot out and squashed the parchment under the sole of his shoe. While McGonagall's back was turned, he casually reached down and snatched the note.
Peter stared down at his Transfigurations text and pretended to be focused on the lesson, but he could feel his ears get hot.
After a moment, Rosier passed the note over to his friend Snape. Peter, several rows behind them, could see their shoulders shaking in suppressed mirth. He tried to concentrate on transfiguring his teapot into an iguana, but only managed a rather disgruntled newt.
In the corridor after class, Rosier and Snape cornered him. "Having a bad day, Petey?" Rosier taunted.
"Heard you had a bit of a spat with your boyfriend," Snape added, with a cruel smile. It wasn't that Snape hated Peter, Peter knew. It was just that hating Sirius had proved rather hazardous to Snape's health and general well-being, and Peter made an easier target. And Rosier was just a total arse.
"Pity, that. You two looked so well together," Rosier said, voice dripping with false sympathy.
Peter sighed. "Can I go to dinner now?" He tried to push past him, but Rosier shoved him back against the wall.
"You look like you could stand a diet," Snape smirked, poking his wand into Peter's plump stomach.
"Think we should give him a bit of exercise?" Rosier suggested. "Honestly, Petey, what would your father say?"
There was a flaw in his dull-and-stupid act, Peter realized abruptly. His dueling skills were just not up to par. He might be able to stand his ground against one of them, if he was lucky, but not both. His eyes darted around, trying to find a way out.
Sirius and Remus were coming out of the classroom. Oh, thank Merlin. Sirius saw them first. For a second, he just stared, face completely devoid of expression. Peter honestly thought he was just going to walk away.
But either his conscience won some internal battle or his hatred for Snape currently outweighed his anger at Peter, because he finally sauntered over and tapped Snape on the back. "Wotcher, Snivellus."
Remus, following, pushed his way between Rosier and Snape with unusual force. "You all right there, Peter?"
"Positively spiffing," Peter mumbled.
Remus turned to the two Slytherins. "Hullo, lads," he said pleasantly. "Just going to dinner, weren't you?"
"Oh, they were," Sirius said. He grinned malevolently at Snape and toyed with his wand. "But you know me, Snivellus. I'm always willing to take a few minutes out of my hectic schedule to spend some quality time with you."
Rosier looked ready for a fight on general principle, but Snape shook his head almost imperceptibly and stepped away. "Right," he snapped. "Have a lovely meal, Pettigrew." He turned on his heel and stalked off. Rosier, always a bright lad, decided that he didn't really want to take on three of the Marauders by himself and followed Snape.
"Thanks," Peter said, embarrassed.
Sirius looked right through him, as if Peter weren't there. Then he turned and walked away.
Remus watched Sirius go with an unreadable expression, then smiled at Peter. "You'd have done the same for us."
Would I have? It was an intriguing concept. Peter would have to think about that.
"Come on," Remus said, tugging Peter's sleeve. "Let's go to dinner."
*
In the Great Hall, Sirius was pointedly sitting as far away from Peter as possible.
"He's never going to speak to me again," Peter moaned, digging into his potatoes and wondering why it still mattered.
Remus rolled his eyes. "Don't be stupid, of course he will. He just likes to sulk."
"I ruined his Halloween prank! He'll never forgive me!"
"There will be other Halloweens."
"Not for another year!"
"Listen," Remus said quietly, "Sirius isn't the only person capable of Halloween pranks."
Peter blinked.
"Maybe you should prank him. He's being a real arse to you."
The thought of getting Sirius back just a bit for his nastiness that day was quite appealing. But Sirius was also the ringleader, He Who Makes Brilliant Mischief, and James the most talented at putting plans into action. There was no way Peter could top them on only a day's notice. "Halloween is tomorrow night. I don't have time to come up with anything good."
"Have it your way," Remus shrugged, prodding his dinner disinterestedly. "I would have missed Sirius's prank anyway; it's full moon tomorrow."
"Yeah."
*
Halloween was not a good day for Peter. Sirius was still bitter about the ruined fireworks, and had made it his mission for the day to scare the crap out of Peter at every possible opportunity. The fifth time Sirius jumped out at him (from behind the statue of Imogene the Incontinent), Peter panicked and tried to Riddikulus him. He felt certain that he wouldn't be able to tell the difference between Sirius and a real boggart from that point onward, and decided to play it safe.
Needless to say, it was a stressful day.
Remus, on the other hand, was uncharacteristically cheerful. At dusk, he set off for the Shack in high spirits, humming tunelessly to himself. Peter grimly thought it was because he was escaping from Sirius's hexes and whinging for the rest of the night.
Aside from throwing humiliating hexes at Peter from around corners, Sirius still wouldn't speak to him. James mainly just conversed with Sirius, leaving Peter to trail after them as they made their way down to the Halloween feast.
Later, no one would be able to determine exactly how it happened. It was as though an invisible tripwire had been strung out across the entrance to the Great Hall, which had a particular fancy for Sirius. The instant he crossed through the doorway, he was flipped upside down and whisked upwards towards the ceiling. Halfway up, he stopped so abruptly it nearly gave him whiplash. There he remained, twirling around slowly as he yelled bloody murder. Gradually, a violently orange glow surrounded him, starting from the top of his head and working its way down - er, up - to his feet.
And he was stuck up there for half an hour while all the professors tried to get him down. With each successive attempt, the orange glow grew brighter and more appalling, until you could hardly see Sirius through it. Even once they figured out how to reverse the charm and get him down - and he landed so heavily it was a wonder he hadn't broken anything - the glow remained. It wouldn't dissipate for a full two days.
Peter just watched in awe as Sirius Black, most accomplished mischief-maker in the school and possibly even the entire history of Hogwarts, was soundly pranked.
And none of the teachers even thought to talk to Remus Lupin, who was, after all, undergoing the painful process of transforming into a werewolf when the incident in question occurred.
*
Later that night, the light of the full moon bathed the common room in silver. Peter tried to do his Transfigurations reading, but he couldn't concentrate. A warm, fizzy feeling had settled in his stomach after the prank, and it refused to dissipate. I've never really had a friend before.
A real friend. Not someone he followed around like a good little arse-kisser, not someone he chose to emulate out of some twisted desire for present or future benefits, but someone he genuinely wanted to hang around with. Someone who did things for him, not just the other way around. Someone who was willing to humiliate the leader of their gang in front of the entire school, just to make Peter feel better.
Someone who didn't even get to see the results of his craftsmanship, because he had a stupid disease that made him turn into a savage monster every month and had to be shut away in an abandoned shack for his own good.
It wasn't fair.
Peter tried to focus on his Transfigurations homework. Read the chapter on Animagi and write eight inches of parchment summarizing. He sighed and pulled out his quill. Animagi are wizards who are very good at Transfiguration, he wrote. So good that they can transfigure themselves into animals and still be able to think like a human.
Remus couldn't think like a human when he was in werewolf shape.
They are very rare because it takes a lot of work and studying to become an Animagus. It's even harder than getting high marks on all your NEWTS.
He wished that he could do something really fantastic for Remus, to thank him.
Animagi don't get to choose what animal they turn into. Their animal form reflects some part of their personality. Professor McGonagall is a cat probably because she's very clever and independent. (I like cats. I think they're beautiful creatures, don't you Professor?)
He wondered if there was a way to make the werewolf thing easier for Remus. A really cool potion, maybe, but none of the Marauders were very good at Potions. Peter was best at Ancient Runes (and he was more than competent at Charms, but that was one of the classes he played dumb in), James and Remus were both brilliant at Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Sirius was a real genius at Transfigurations. He could have gotten top marks if he'd only do the homework occasionally.
There are many benefits to being an Animagus. In animal form, Animagi can communicate with real animals and do whatever their animal can do.
There had to be something Peter could do for Remus.
Also, when they are in animal form, Animagi are immune to many human problems. They are immune to the effects of many spells, human diseases, and things like werewolf bites.
Something went click in Peter's brain.
He stared at his parchment. No. No, it was impossible. There were only a handful of Animagi alive anywhere at any time. It was way beyond their magical capabilities. Totally impossible.
But on the other hand, the most important thing about magic is intent, and Peter knew that if he wanted something badly enough, he could make it happen.
continued in part 2
The Years of the Rat
by kaydee falls
Pairings: Peter gen, also Remus/Sirius, James/Lily
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: not mine, no profit, don't sue. Includes quotes taken from the Chinese Zodiac and the Oxford English Dictionary's definitions of the word "rat"
Notes: Huge thanks and hugs to msilverstar for the incredibly patient and thorough beta.
Chinese Zodiac: Rats are imaginative, charming, and truly generous to the person they love. However, they have a tendency to be quick-tempered and overly critical. They are also inclined to be somewhat of an opportunist.
Year 1
Chinese Zodiac, rat: "somewhat of an opportunist."
Peter's parents had thought he was a Squib for years. He'd never shown any particular affinity for or even interest in magic, and as a child, he'd always played with the Muggle boys in the village, instinctively shying away from the four or five other children of wizarding families.
But Peter knew he wasn't a Squib. He stole his father's wand some nights and made it sparkle and spurt. Once he pointed it at a turtle his friend Jack found in the fishpond and made up some words. The turtle turned bright orange.
Peter learned from an early age that magic was about intent first and foremost. If you wanted something badly enough, you could make it happen even if you didn't know the right spells.
Peter learned from an early age that you could get away with almost anything if the grownups thought you were dull and stupid.
Peter learned from an early age that he was much cleverer than most of the people around him, and that was a delicious secret he hugged tight to himself and giggled about alone in his bed at night. Peter liked secrets. He always had. He just liked knowing things that no one else knew, whether they were important or not. It made him feel powerful.
So when the letter from Hogwarts came, the summer he turned eleven, he pretended to be just as surprised as anyone else, and once his parents went to bed, he laughed until he was nearly sick.
*
At Platform 9 and ¾, Peter listened with half an ear as his father went on and on about how wonderful Hogwarts was and how much Peter would love it and "remember, your mother and I will love you no matter what house you get sorted into, so don't be frightened." Peter smiled blandly. He hadn't thought much about the house system yet, but he knew his parents expected him to wind up in Hufflepuff.
"Pettigrew," someone said in a steely voice. Peter's father turned and beamed ridiculously at a tall, imposing wizard with a stern face and dark hair.
"Rosier, old chap!" Peter's father exclaimed delightedly, shaking the man's hand with no small enthusiasm. "My god, it's been years!"
Rosier smiled. It was almost a friendly smile, but it oozed condescension. "Your son, I suppose?"
"Oh, yes, this is my lad Peter, just starting his first year! Petey, this is an old friend of mine, from school."
Peter smiled and shook Rosier's hand obediently. Rosier had the coldest eyes Peter had ever seen, and Peter suppressed a shudder at the full icy force of that gaze turned on him.
"My son, Evan," Rosier said, indicating a boy several inches taller than Peter, with his father's dark hair and cold eyes. He smirked at Peter. "Also just starting at Hogwarts."
As their fathers talked, Evan and Peter just looked at each other, silently sizing each other up. Peter made sure to smile too widely and shrink down just a bit more. The Rosiers were clearly a better family, of higher status than the Pettigrews. People like that tended to like Peter only inasmuch as he reinforced their own perceived superiority, and he did want to be liked. "So what house d'you think you'll end up in?" Peter asked, breaking the silence.
Evan rolled his eyes. "Slytherin, of course, like my father."
"Oh," Peter said. He picked at his sleeves. "Do most people take after their parents, then? In the sorting, I mean."
"No, only in the good families." Another smirk.
"Oh." Clearly, Peter shouldn't have just overlooked the house distinctions. The sorting was more important than his parents had led him to believe. Once on the train, he spent much of the trip listening to a third-year girl explain the house system to a couple of Muggleborns and deciding what house he wanted to be placed into.
If Evan Rosier was to be believed, Slytherin was a good house to be in. Lots of powerful, pureblood wizards came out of Slytherin. Peter would have plenty of people to kiss up to, to make good connections with. But on the other hand, Slytherins were expected to be sneaky and ambitious, which Peter thought was a really stupid way to go about it. If everyone thinks you're sneaky, they'll be keeping an eye on you, and you can't sneak particularly well when you're being watched all the time. Besides, Slytherins had a tendency to go into the Dark Arts, and while Peter liked power, he didn't want to be evil. So Slytherin was probably out.
Ravenclaws were too clever by half; he couldn't pull his usual dull-and-stupid act if he went into Ravenclaw, and because they were so intelligent, Ravenclaws were probably a bit suspicious by nature. Besides, power didn't come out of reading a lot of books all the time; power came out of practical application, and most Ravenclaws were far too devoted to their studies to actually do much with them.
Hufflepuff would be ideal for the dull-and-stupid act, and his parents certainly expected him to be sorted there, but there was something about it that put Peter off. After all, being surrounded by a bunch of twits for seven years probably wasn't a good way to actually learn anything on your own. Furthermore, Hufflepuffs rarely went very far after graduation, usually finding themselves cheerfully stuck in low-level Ministry jobs, and that just wouldn't do. A good portion of power was influence, and influence primarily came from connections, and Peter probably wouldn't make any good connections in Hufflepuff. Nothing useful, anyway.
Which left Gryffindor, and after considering it for a while, Peter decided that this wasn't half bad. Gryffindors were supposed to be brave above all else - not necessarily intelligent, though, and there seemed to be a sort of brawn-not-brains quality to the house. And bravery was such an intangible quality; even a dull and stupid boy like Peter Pettigrew might possess it. Besides, his father had been in Gryffindor, so if anyone thought his placement odd, they would chalk it up to family lines. And Gryffindors often did great things after graduation; knowing them wouldn't hurt a bit.
So when it was his turn with the Sorting Hat, Peter just thought hard about Gryffindor, and how he wasn't really smart but he'd like to be brave, to be somebody, my dad was Gryffindor and he's the most incredible person I know, if only I could fill his shoes, won't you please give me a chance Mr. Hat?
"Gryffindor!" the hat shouted, and Peter hid a secret smile. After all, the most important thing about magic is intent, and if you want something badly enough, you can make it happen.
*
There were five other Gryffindor boys in his year. Peter was sure he'd been introduced to them at some point, but he'd also been introduced to everyone else in the entire house, so he was a bit hazy on names. Besides, he'd lived in a small coastal village all his life, where he'd known everyone by sight and hadn't had to learn a new name since he was five. Hogwarts didn't intimidate him, but it would take some getting used to.
The largest of the first year Gryffindors was a dark-haired, good-looking chap who had quickly established himself as leader of the pack. He lounged decadently on his bed with the air of someone accustomed to privilege and power, exuding confidence. The others instinctively gathered around him, looking to him for conversation and approval. Peter followed suit, the quiet pale shadow in the corner of the dormitory.
"I wish first years could go out for Quidditch," the large boy was saying. "I left my broom at home with my little brother; he'll probably destroy it by Christmas."
"What kind of broom do you have?" a blond-haired boy asked. Peter thought his family name might have been Dearborn, with a funny-sounding first name. "My dad bought me the new Shooting Star over the summer."
The large boy scoffed at this. "Shooting Stars aren't so great," he said. "My uncle Alphard says they'll be out of business in ten years, tops. I've got a Nimbus," he added proudly. "It's loads faster than any Shooting Star."
Dearborn scowled at him. "Nimbuses aren't anywhere near as agile, though. They'll dump you halfway through a spin."
"Yeah?" The boy raised an eyebrow mischievously. "Willing to put good Galleons on it? I'll bet I can fly circles around you. Or I would if I had my broom here." He looked out at the other boys. "What do you lads think, Nimbus or Shooting Star?"
Peter and another boy agreed that the Nimbus was better, although a boy with messy black hair and round glasses voted staunchly for the Shooting Star. The sixth boy in the room remained silent. The large boy gave him a pointed look. "What, no opinion, Lupin?"
"I've never been on a broom," Lupin said quietly. "So I suppose I wouldn't know the difference."
The five boys stared at him. "Never been on a broom?" the leader said incredulously. "What, do you live under a rock?"
Lupin ran a hand through his brown hair self-consciously. He was a pale, skinny boy, the sort who probably never spent much time outdoors. "My parents think it's too dangerous," Lupin said. Too pale, Peter decided. Sickly, maybe? Sick boys tend to have overprotective parents. "Besides," Lupin continued, "my mum's a Muggle, and she doesn't much take to Wizarding sports. She says they're uncivilized."
The large boy let out a surprised laugh. "A Mudblood, then!" he cried delightedly. "Oh, my mother would have fits if she knew I was rooming with you, Lupin!"
The rest of the dorm fell silent. Lupin stared at the floor.
"I wouldn't go around insulting other people's bloodlines, Black," the bespectacled boy hissed. "I know all about your family. Toujours pur and all that rot, right?"
The large boy - Black - shifted uncomfortably. "Shut up, Potter."
"His family's all Slytherin," Potter told the other boys. "Dark wizards, the lot of them. You can tell by the name."
"I said shut up," Black hissed.
"Are you spying on us Gryffindors?" Potter pressed him relentlessly. "Is that what you are, a Slytherin spy?"
"I'm no one's spy, and I'm not a bloody Slytherin!" Black yelled, jumping off the bed and pulling out his wand. Potter responded in kind. For a few long seconds, they remained frozen in a silent face-off.
"Apologize to Remus here," Potter finally said.
Black glared at him venomously, but slowly lowered his wand. "I'm sorry, Lupin," he said, although his eyes never left Potter. "I meant no offense."
Lupin coughed, his face flushed red. "None taken."
"All right, then," Potter said, and tucked his wand back into his robes. The tension dissipated eventually, as the boys all awkwardly made their way to their respective beds.
Potter is the more powerful one, Peter thought to himself as he pushed back his bedclothes. He'd been surprised by the result of the minor skirmish. Black makes a better show of himself, but Potter's the stronger of the two.
I'll remember that.
*
They were eating breakfast in the Great Hall the next day when the owl came. It dropped a big red envelope right in the middle of Black's plate, scorching his eggs.
"Better open it," Dearborn advised, inching his own plate of breakfast away from Black's. "You're likely to get a face full of eggs, otherwise."
"How d'you suppose he's gotten in trouble already?" Potter murmured, a wicked glint in his eyes.
Black ignored them, eying the Howler with something like resignation. He took a deep breath and slit the envelope with his butter knife.
"HOW DARE YOU BESMIRCH YOUR FAMILY NAME IN THIS WAY?" the Howler screeched. Most of the Gryffindors had their hands over their ears. "A SON OF MINE IN GRYFFINDOR! I'LL HAVE YOU EXPELLED! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, CONSORTING WITH GRYFFINDOR FILTH?!" A few of the other boys shot Black dirty looks.
Potter smirked openly.
The Howler's tirade went on for several more minutes. Most of the Gryffindor table got tired of its ranting and abandoned their breakfasts in disgust. But Black remained, staring grimly into space and letting the thing wear itself out.
The only Gryffindors left by the end of breakfast were Potter, Lupin, Peter, and of course Black, who was tersely informing the owl to go home, "and no, I'm not sending the old bat a message, so bugger off."
"How's your mum doing, Black?" one of the Slytherins called over, sniggering. Another deliberately knocked Black's glass of juice into his lap as she left the Hall. Black endured the taunting in silence, stonily mopping up the spilt juice.
Potter gave him one long, inscrutable look, then turned and left. Dearborn and Fenwick, the other first-year Gryffindor boys, were waiting for him just outside the Hall. The trio went off to class together, laughing.
Black looked across the table at Lupin and Peter. He grinned crookedly. "Parents, eh?"
Peter exchanged a glance with Lupin. After a moment, they looked back at Black and nodded as if they understood.
Later that morning, Black offered Lupin an embarrassed but genuine apology for the whole Mudblood thing, and offered to shake on it. Lupin eyed his outstretched hand in surprise, then hesitantly clasped it in his own.
It was an awkward handshake, but it was a start.
Year 2
OED, rat: n. slang (orig. U.S.). Used ironically in pl. to express incredulity: ‘humbug’, ‘nonsense’.
"I think I know where Lupin goes every month."
Peter nearly choked on a chocolate frog, which took advantage of his distress by hopping out of his mouth and halfway across the dormitory. Sirius calmly leaned over and grabbed it as it leapt past his bed. He tossed it back over to Peter, who caught it rather messily and ate it with a vengeance. Neither of them looked at Potter, still standing alone in the doorway.
"You heard me," Potter said angrily, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Stop pretending you didn't."
"You're daft," Sirius said. "You don't know anything."
"Piss off, Black. I was talking to Pettigrew, anyway." Potter took a step towards Peter's bed. "Seriously, Pettigrew, I think I know where he goes every month."
Sirius stood and stepped between the two boys, bristling. "Shut up, Potter. How would you know more about Remus than me or Peter? We're his friends."
Potter raised an eyebrow. "If you were really his friend, you'd want to know what I know. But you're not. Pettigrew here is; that's why I was talking to him." He turned back to Peter. "You want to hear me out, don't you, Pettigrew?"
Sirius grabbed the front of Potter's robes. Potter didn't even flinch. "What do you mean, I'm not Remus's friend? What makes you think Peter cares more about him than I do?" Peter stiffened a bit at that, face flushing, but swallowed back his retort.
Potter smiled coldly and calmly pushed Sirius away. "Because you're an arrogant arse who can't even be buggered to check in on your own mates when they go missing once a month. I hardly know Lupin and I've been worried about him. It's not natural to play Houdini that often."
This made Sirius pause, at least for a second. "What's a Houdini?"
Potter rolled his eyes. "Famous Muggle magician. I'm not surprised you don't know. You're so purebred you probably grew up thinking Muggles were just fairy tales."
Sirius's eyes glittered dangerously and he took a menacing step forward. Potter smirked and reached into his pocket for his wand.
"Hey," Peter said. They ignored him. "Oi, listen to me!"
Sirius reached for his own wand.
Peter stood and stomped his foot. "You're both idiots. Stop it." And amazingly, they did - or at least stopped glaring at each other and looked at him, which was a promising start. "Potter, what do you think you know about Remus?"
"He's a werewolf."
Without hesitation, Sirius and Peter had their wands out. Peter shot off a spell to yank the door shut and locked as Sirius cast a silencing charm on the room. And Potter suddenly found himself with two wands shoved in his face and not the slightest chance of defending himself. Not that any of them had learned much in the way of dueling yet, but it couldn't have been a comfortable position for him.
"You ever tell anyone else a filthy lie like that," Sirius hissed, "and I'll glue you to your broom and send you straight into the Whomping Willow."
"Are you mad?" Peter added. "Do you know what would happen to Remus if even a stupid rumor like that got around? He'd be expelled!"
"And besides, it's absolute nonsense," Sirius said. "A werewolf, in Hogwarts! Don't be absurd."
Potter took a step back. "Just listen to me," he said.
"No!" Sirius yelled. "You're lying! You're trying to get Remus in trouble!"
"Why is he missing every month?" Potter persisted. "And always around the full moon, did you notice?"
"Get out of here," Sirius growled. "And don't you dare mention this to anyone. Anyone!"
Potter glanced over at Peter, who just kept his wand fixed on him, unwavering. "Fine," he said, turning towards the door. "But I'm not lying. Remus is in the hospital wing." His attempt at a dramatic exit was spoiled when he had to tug at the door futilely for half a minute until Peter remembered to unlock it.
Once Potter was gone, Peter and Sirius just stared at each other in silence for a few long moments. "If Remus really is in the hospital wing, we should go check up on him," Sirius said finally.
"What if he's right?" Peter asked. "If Remus is really a werewolf, we might be in danger."
Sirius grabbed him by the front of his robes. "Remus is not a werewolf," he snarled. "And if you ever mention a word of this to anyone, I'll kill you. We're his friends. We never betray each other, never. Understand?" Peter nodded hastily, and was released. Sirius straightened his collar. "Whose side are you on, Peter? Ours or Potter's?"
"Yours," Peter said quickly. "You know I'm on your side, Sirius."
Because Potter might be the stronger one, but he'd never actually hurt Peter. Sirius might.
*
In the hospital wing, Remus saw them before they saw him. He shrank under the sheets. "Get out," he said frantically. "Get out before Pomfrey sees you!"
"Remus-" Peter started.
Remus looked close to tears. "You're not supposed to be here! Go away!"
Sirius walked up to the bed and deliberately tugged the sheets away from Remus. Remus shrank even smaller, if that was possible, as if he could disappear if he tried hard enough.
Sirius and Peter just stared.
"Remus," Sirius said finally, horrified, "what happened to you?"
His body was a mess of bandages, some bloodstained. What little of his skin they could see - his shoulders and some stomach - was covered with painful-looking scratches. One long scar ran from his neck to somewhere under the swath of bandages - what looked like the end of it poked out on his left hip. He had a large purple bruise on his jaw.
Peter swallowed hard. "I hope the other bloke looks worse," he said lightly. The joke fell flat. Remus just stared at his hands, and Sirius didn't even appear to have heard.
"Remus," Sirius said softly.
"It's nothing, really," Remus said, shaking. "Honest, just an accident. I'm okay, stupid of me really, I-"
"He had a bit of a run-in with the Whomping Willow," someone said dryly. Peter whirled around guiltily - which made no sense, really, what did he have to feel guilty about? - to see Madam Pomfrey standing in the doorway. "There's a reason it's restricted, and that's a lesson for all of you. Now, Mr. Black, Mr. Pettigrew, I must insist that you return to your dormitory. It's getting late."
Peter and Sirius allowed themselves to be shooed out of the infirmary. "Whomping Willow?" Peter muttered.
"No tree did that," Sirius said. "Trees don't have claws."
"Not even the Willow," Peter agreed. He looked up at Sirius. "Now what?"
Sirius stared off into space. His mouth was set in a grim line. "I think we need to have a chat with Potter."
*
"Did she ask you why you needed to borrow her Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook?" Peter asked worriedly.
"Don't worry about it," Sirius said. He smiled humorlessly. "Narcissa probably thinks this is a sign that I'm planning on returning to the dark side."
"I found some stuff in the library," Potter added. "Still haven't figured out a way into the Restricted Section, alas."
"You haven't?" Sirius said. "You're a twit, then. There's a passage-"
"We're here to study," Peter interrupted nervously. "It's nearly dawn. What if someone comes down to the common room early and finds us?"
Sirius snorted. "What if?"
"They'll see all these-" he waved his arms about to imply all manner of Dark materials "-books!"
"There's nothing bad here," Sirius said disdainfully. "Not a single scrap of restricted parchment."
"Some people do study on their own, you know," Potter added dismissively.
"Third year Defense textbooks?"
"So we're advanced." Sirius plopped down into an armchair and deliberately opened the textbook. "Last chapter, right?"
"Think so," Potter agreed, reaching for the first book in his stack. "Here, Pettigrew, I think this one might have something on werewolves in it somewhere."
Something occurred to Peter. "Hey, Potter, you said you knew where Remus went every month. So where does he go to…change?"
Potter shifted the books on his lap uncomfortably. "Well, I meant...generally. I'm not sure where he changes. I tried to figure that part out - I worked out a sort of tracking spell, but I'm not sure what to ground it with."
Sirius looked up. "Oh, that's easy," he said unexpectedly. "My mum taught us that when we were little, in case we ever got separated from her…here, all you need is a bit of parchment..." He ripped off a bit of the scroll he'd started to take notes on and began drawing a little diagram. "Look, we know he's in the hospital wing now, so it's a good test. See, here's the infirmary - the halls around it - all right, I'll draw up a rough plot of that part of the first floor-" He sketched out little rectangular rooms. He had a surprisingly neat hand for drawing, Peter noticed. "Then you link the map to the castle - there's a wicked spell for it." He touched the tip of his wand to the parchment and rattled off a string of words Peter didn't recognize. They didn't sound like Latin, and Peter wondered uneasily just what sort of magic Mrs. Black had taught her sons.
As Sirius recited the spell, the lines of the diagram shifted around slightly, correcting proportions to match the hospital wing's actual floor plan. Potter and Peter leaned forward, staring. Sirius didn't seem to notice their rapt attention. "So now we add your tracking spell, Potter. Here, I'll draw Remus up here in the corner." He scribbled a small stick figure outside the realm of the map. "You can use any symbol you want for him, or even a little box with his name written in. Just touch your wand to it and ground the spell."
Peter had no idea what Sirius meant by this, but apparently Potter knew better. He nodded and followed Sirius's direction, reciting a brief incantation of his own. This one was Latin, at least, which lessened Peter's discomfort a bit.
"Okay," Sirius said, when Potter was finished. "Now all I have to do is connect your spell to my map." Another strange spell. Greek, maybe? No, the words felt darker, somehow. More ancient.
The stick figure vanished from its corner and reappeared on the crude map, lying complacently in the infirmary rectangle. It twitched slightly.
"There," Sirius said triumphantly. "Now, all we have to do is sketch out a rough map of the castle grounds next full moon, and see where he goes. Your tracking spell was the difficult bit, Potter - attaching it to a map is easy."
"Easy enough when you've got Dark wizards in your family tree," Peter muttered. They ignored him.
He and Sirius opened their books and started reading. But Potter stared at the map for a while with a curious, intense expression. He didn't say another word.
Just as the sun's first rays crept over the windowsill, the entry to the common room swung open. Remus slipped through noiselessly, then froze in his tracks.
"Hi," Peter said uncomfortably. "You're feeling better already, well done - look lads, it's Remus..."
"What are you doing down here so early?" Remus asked. He forced a smile and walked over to them. "Sirius Black, studying? I never thought I'd see the-"
He saw the book open on Sirius's lap.
"Er," Sirius said. "While to the untrained eye, this may appear to be the werewolf chapter in the third-year textbook, it is actually, in fact, one of Bella's dirty mags."
Remus looked understandably terrified. "Who…who knows?"
"Just the three of us," Sirius said quickly. "It's okay, Remus. It doesn't bother us. We're still your friends."
"You won't…" Remus swallowed hard. His hands were shaking visibly. "You won't tell anyone, will you?"
"Never," James said firmly. "No one else will ever know."
They didn't give themselves a proper name until a few months later, when they overheard a livid Filch refer to them as "those undisciplined marauding beast-children." But that was when they became the Marauders, anyway.
Year 3
OED, rat: n. …Also as a general expression of disgust, annoyance, etc.
"God, Peter!" Sirius yelled. "Why are you such an idiot?"
"I said I was sorry!" Peter said, cringing. "I didn't know!"
James put a hand on Sirius's shoulder. "Calm down-"
Sirius shook him off. "Did you see what he did? Did you? He completely messed up everything!" He stormed out of the dormitory. James rolled his eyes and went after him.
The room was resoundingly silent in the vacuum created by Sirius's dramatic exit. "It was just fireworks," Peter squeaked into the silence. "I didn't know that he'd planned to-"
"Well, that's his fault for not letting you in on the prank," Remus said reasonably. He was rummaging around under his bed. "Now where did I…ah!" He emerged triumphantly, bearing an innocuous bag of something or other. "Want a chocolate?"
The bag contained sweets, apparently. Peter accepted the offered chocolate with as much dignity as he could manage. "Why didn't he just tell me?"
"Because you're absolute rubbish at Charms," Remus said cheerfully, "and he was sure you'd muck things up somehow if you were in on it."
"Looks like I managed anyway," Peter grumbled. "I'm not as stupid as he thinks I am."
Remus gave him an inscrutable look. "I know. You're loads better than me at Potions, at least."
"That's not saying much."
Remus threw a chocolate at Peter's head.
*
Peter tried to grab James after Potions. "Look, can't you talk to him for me? I just wanted to-"
James shook him off disinterestedly. "He'll come around eventually."
"I know, but I thought if you-"
"Give over, I'm not kissing up to Sirius for you."
Peter frowned. "I offered to do his Astronomy homework, to make it up to him, but he wouldn't even listen to me."
James nearly fell over himself laughing, and several of the nearby portraits joined in, carried away by his mirth. "I'm not surprised," he managed. "You? Doing Sirius's assignment? You'd completely bollocks it up, what sort of apology is that?"
Peter flushed. He wanted to protest that he really wasn't at all bad at Astronomy, but the words wouldn't come.
"Oi, Potter, you coming?" a fifth-year boy called over, heading down the corridor with a couple of other lads from the Gryffindor Quidditch team.
"Listen," James told Peter vaguely, heading over to join them, "just leave it be. I've got Quidditch practice, I'll see you later, all right?"
"Sure," Peter mumbled, but James was already gone. Other students, in pairs and groups, shoved past him, totally indifferent to the small, chubby boy standing alone in the middle of the corridor.
*
Peter spent most of Transfigurations trying to think up a way to provoke some response out of Sirius, to no avail. Finally, in desperation, he wrote a rather pathetic and long-winded apology on a scrap of parchment - if nothing else, he knew how to be a good arse-kisser - and charmed it to scurry across the floor like some sort of little rodent and slip into the pocket of Sirius's robe.
Well, that was the plan, anyway, but as the note-mouse wound its way around one of the Slytherins' desks, Evan Rosier stuck his foot out and squashed the parchment under the sole of his shoe. While McGonagall's back was turned, he casually reached down and snatched the note.
Peter stared down at his Transfigurations text and pretended to be focused on the lesson, but he could feel his ears get hot.
After a moment, Rosier passed the note over to his friend Snape. Peter, several rows behind them, could see their shoulders shaking in suppressed mirth. He tried to concentrate on transfiguring his teapot into an iguana, but only managed a rather disgruntled newt.
In the corridor after class, Rosier and Snape cornered him. "Having a bad day, Petey?" Rosier taunted.
"Heard you had a bit of a spat with your boyfriend," Snape added, with a cruel smile. It wasn't that Snape hated Peter, Peter knew. It was just that hating Sirius had proved rather hazardous to Snape's health and general well-being, and Peter made an easier target. And Rosier was just a total arse.
"Pity, that. You two looked so well together," Rosier said, voice dripping with false sympathy.
Peter sighed. "Can I go to dinner now?" He tried to push past him, but Rosier shoved him back against the wall.
"You look like you could stand a diet," Snape smirked, poking his wand into Peter's plump stomach.
"Think we should give him a bit of exercise?" Rosier suggested. "Honestly, Petey, what would your father say?"
There was a flaw in his dull-and-stupid act, Peter realized abruptly. His dueling skills were just not up to par. He might be able to stand his ground against one of them, if he was lucky, but not both. His eyes darted around, trying to find a way out.
Sirius and Remus were coming out of the classroom. Oh, thank Merlin. Sirius saw them first. For a second, he just stared, face completely devoid of expression. Peter honestly thought he was just going to walk away.
But either his conscience won some internal battle or his hatred for Snape currently outweighed his anger at Peter, because he finally sauntered over and tapped Snape on the back. "Wotcher, Snivellus."
Remus, following, pushed his way between Rosier and Snape with unusual force. "You all right there, Peter?"
"Positively spiffing," Peter mumbled.
Remus turned to the two Slytherins. "Hullo, lads," he said pleasantly. "Just going to dinner, weren't you?"
"Oh, they were," Sirius said. He grinned malevolently at Snape and toyed with his wand. "But you know me, Snivellus. I'm always willing to take a few minutes out of my hectic schedule to spend some quality time with you."
Rosier looked ready for a fight on general principle, but Snape shook his head almost imperceptibly and stepped away. "Right," he snapped. "Have a lovely meal, Pettigrew." He turned on his heel and stalked off. Rosier, always a bright lad, decided that he didn't really want to take on three of the Marauders by himself and followed Snape.
"Thanks," Peter said, embarrassed.
Sirius looked right through him, as if Peter weren't there. Then he turned and walked away.
Remus watched Sirius go with an unreadable expression, then smiled at Peter. "You'd have done the same for us."
Would I have? It was an intriguing concept. Peter would have to think about that.
"Come on," Remus said, tugging Peter's sleeve. "Let's go to dinner."
*
In the Great Hall, Sirius was pointedly sitting as far away from Peter as possible.
"He's never going to speak to me again," Peter moaned, digging into his potatoes and wondering why it still mattered.
Remus rolled his eyes. "Don't be stupid, of course he will. He just likes to sulk."
"I ruined his Halloween prank! He'll never forgive me!"
"There will be other Halloweens."
"Not for another year!"
"Listen," Remus said quietly, "Sirius isn't the only person capable of Halloween pranks."
Peter blinked.
"Maybe you should prank him. He's being a real arse to you."
The thought of getting Sirius back just a bit for his nastiness that day was quite appealing. But Sirius was also the ringleader, He Who Makes Brilliant Mischief, and James the most talented at putting plans into action. There was no way Peter could top them on only a day's notice. "Halloween is tomorrow night. I don't have time to come up with anything good."
"Have it your way," Remus shrugged, prodding his dinner disinterestedly. "I would have missed Sirius's prank anyway; it's full moon tomorrow."
"Yeah."
*
Halloween was not a good day for Peter. Sirius was still bitter about the ruined fireworks, and had made it his mission for the day to scare the crap out of Peter at every possible opportunity. The fifth time Sirius jumped out at him (from behind the statue of Imogene the Incontinent), Peter panicked and tried to Riddikulus him. He felt certain that he wouldn't be able to tell the difference between Sirius and a real boggart from that point onward, and decided to play it safe.
Needless to say, it was a stressful day.
Remus, on the other hand, was uncharacteristically cheerful. At dusk, he set off for the Shack in high spirits, humming tunelessly to himself. Peter grimly thought it was because he was escaping from Sirius's hexes and whinging for the rest of the night.
Aside from throwing humiliating hexes at Peter from around corners, Sirius still wouldn't speak to him. James mainly just conversed with Sirius, leaving Peter to trail after them as they made their way down to the Halloween feast.
Later, no one would be able to determine exactly how it happened. It was as though an invisible tripwire had been strung out across the entrance to the Great Hall, which had a particular fancy for Sirius. The instant he crossed through the doorway, he was flipped upside down and whisked upwards towards the ceiling. Halfway up, he stopped so abruptly it nearly gave him whiplash. There he remained, twirling around slowly as he yelled bloody murder. Gradually, a violently orange glow surrounded him, starting from the top of his head and working its way down - er, up - to his feet.
And he was stuck up there for half an hour while all the professors tried to get him down. With each successive attempt, the orange glow grew brighter and more appalling, until you could hardly see Sirius through it. Even once they figured out how to reverse the charm and get him down - and he landed so heavily it was a wonder he hadn't broken anything - the glow remained. It wouldn't dissipate for a full two days.
Peter just watched in awe as Sirius Black, most accomplished mischief-maker in the school and possibly even the entire history of Hogwarts, was soundly pranked.
And none of the teachers even thought to talk to Remus Lupin, who was, after all, undergoing the painful process of transforming into a werewolf when the incident in question occurred.
*
Later that night, the light of the full moon bathed the common room in silver. Peter tried to do his Transfigurations reading, but he couldn't concentrate. A warm, fizzy feeling had settled in his stomach after the prank, and it refused to dissipate. I've never really had a friend before.
A real friend. Not someone he followed around like a good little arse-kisser, not someone he chose to emulate out of some twisted desire for present or future benefits, but someone he genuinely wanted to hang around with. Someone who did things for him, not just the other way around. Someone who was willing to humiliate the leader of their gang in front of the entire school, just to make Peter feel better.
Someone who didn't even get to see the results of his craftsmanship, because he had a stupid disease that made him turn into a savage monster every month and had to be shut away in an abandoned shack for his own good.
It wasn't fair.
Peter tried to focus on his Transfigurations homework. Read the chapter on Animagi and write eight inches of parchment summarizing. He sighed and pulled out his quill. Animagi are wizards who are very good at Transfiguration, he wrote. So good that they can transfigure themselves into animals and still be able to think like a human.
Remus couldn't think like a human when he was in werewolf shape.
They are very rare because it takes a lot of work and studying to become an Animagus. It's even harder than getting high marks on all your NEWTS.
He wished that he could do something really fantastic for Remus, to thank him.
Animagi don't get to choose what animal they turn into. Their animal form reflects some part of their personality. Professor McGonagall is a cat probably because she's very clever and independent. (I like cats. I think they're beautiful creatures, don't you Professor?)
He wondered if there was a way to make the werewolf thing easier for Remus. A really cool potion, maybe, but none of the Marauders were very good at Potions. Peter was best at Ancient Runes (and he was more than competent at Charms, but that was one of the classes he played dumb in), James and Remus were both brilliant at Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Sirius was a real genius at Transfigurations. He could have gotten top marks if he'd only do the homework occasionally.
There are many benefits to being an Animagus. In animal form, Animagi can communicate with real animals and do whatever their animal can do.
There had to be something Peter could do for Remus.
Also, when they are in animal form, Animagi are immune to many human problems. They are immune to the effects of many spells, human diseases, and things like werewolf bites.
Something went click in Peter's brain.
He stared at his parchment. No. No, it was impossible. There were only a handful of Animagi alive anywhere at any time. It was way beyond their magical capabilities. Totally impossible.
But on the other hand, the most important thing about magic is intent, and Peter knew that if he wanted something badly enough, he could make it happen.
continued in part 2