Work Text:
warnings from a rattlesnake;
Peter Pettigrew was oft forgotten, for when surrounded by the sun, the stars, and the moon, how could he even hope to hold a candle?
That wasn’t to say he felt underappreciated, no, Prongs and Padfoot and Moony appreciated him. But in the way one appreciated the stairs. They were only missed when they moved and as a consequence you were late to class. Only appreciated when they stayed put and were innocuous.
And he was a Gryffindor through and through. Peter craved attention, which was immensely difficult to receive when one was caught in the shadows of the brightest pupils of his generation. Of course, they weren't necessarily the best students, but they were most definitely the most promising. The smartest. The most powerful.
The brightest.
When they started the animagi process, Peter thought a lot about their forms and what they would be.
Sirius would likely be flashy and loyal to the bone. Bone? He’d be a dog. Always panting after James and pawing under girls skirts.
James, on the other hand, would probably be a lion with how much of a Gryffindor he was. He did prance all about, though, so maybe a stallion or summat? That seemed likely.
Of course he thought of his own form, but Peter truly had no idea.
James snidely commented that maybe he’d be a little mouse. Peter hated the idea that he would be something so insignificant and common as a bloody mouse. No way. He’d rather never transform at all than be a buggering rodent.
Sirius laughed and said that Peter would be a mole if he was any sort of rodent, but followed up that with his prediction. He figured Peter would be a rooster, crowing and preening, cackling at Peter’s shocked face.
Remus kindly suggested that perhaps he’d be an owl; Peter was about as good as one could be at divination without actually being a seer. Several people had remarked how eerie his ability to predict was. Peter disagreed, it was just arithmancy, good judgement, and some patience.
Few people had the patience for that sort of thing, but Peter had patience aplenty. He was the look out, he was their warning, he could remain hidden for hours and not move once.
Frustration was not an emotion Peter had practice dealing with, solely by virtue of how little he was genuinely frustrated. Waiting didn’t bother him, studying didn’t bore him all that much, and nothing truly challenged him in class. He lagged only just behind the other marauders, which of course felt like a mile, but Peter just grit his teeth and practised a little bit more. The concepts were easy, but he simply just wasn’t as powerful as James and Sirius. Peter and Remus became quite close over their fifth year, studying together near constantly.
Jealousy, however. That? Oh Peter was quite accustomed with jealousy.
He was jealous of the way Sirius dripped magic, wandless spells flickered through the webbing between his fingers like static. Blood bled true, after all.
Lily Evans, for example. She was good at magic, one of the best in their year. Top of Hogwarts, just up there with the purebloods. But she didn’t breathe magic like Sirius did. She had to think before casting, just a split second. Sirius didn’t. Sirius cast like he was made of magic, like his wand was an extension of his body, not simply a tool. Like if he slit his wrists, he’d bleed out silvery spellfire.
Peter loved and envied Sirius in equal measures. He loved how funny he was, how kind he could be when he wanted to, how good he was. He also hated Sirius. Picture perfect Sirius who got anything and anyone he wanted — even Remus.
If Peter was one for self-reflection, he would perhaps realise that his intense jealousy, while not unfounded, was draining and unhealthy. Perhaps he could have acknowledged grinding his molars down over Sirius was cruel and that being so horribly jealous of his best mates didn’t bode well for the longevity of their relationship. But he wasn’t, so he had none of these realisations.
Although, while Peter wasn’t one for self-reflection, he could pinpoint the exact moment he began to hate Sirius.
It was a blisteringly cold January, fifth year. The marauders decided that the best way to rid themselves of the chill was to get positively pissed on firewhiskey. It was the first time they had ever drank before, and so with just three or four shots, they were plastered.
Peter couldn’t say what made Sirius start, but all of a sudden he and James were kissing. And not a chaste kiss, either, there were tongues and wandering hands and a fair bit of frotting. Peter was mesmerised. And then Sirius moved over to him, and they were snogging.
It felt good. Right, even. Sirius had slick, warm lips, and his hands were firm on his waist. Peter tangled his hands in Sirius’s hair, pulling him closer. When they stopped for air, Sirius grinned with red lips and cheeks.
Sirius and Remus kissed, next, and Peter had never felt colder. There was a pit in his stomach, and he felt like throwing up. He felt a tap on his shoulder, and James was giggling, drunk off his rocker, and moving towards him.
Kissing James was easy. He wasn’t as demanding as Sirius, nor as passionate. But he was easy. James clambered into his lap and Peter fell backwards, not expecting the shift in weight. Peter wasn’t really attracted to James, but he couldn’t deny that seeing him on his lap, peering down, licking his lips didn’t do it for him.
They kissed, James grinding down on Peter’s lap until Sirius decided he wanted another piece of James. Remus was sitting a metre away, touching his lips, so Peter took advantage. He was a little nervous; this felt different, more important than kissing Sirius or James.
And oh did it feel different.
Peter was kneeling over Remus, slightly bent over from the height difference. Peter liked taking the lead, he realised. Liked the give and take he had with Remus. Liked Remus and his hands under Peter’s shirt. Liked Remus and his lips on Peter’s neck.
Liked Remus.
When they all woke up the next day with headaches and cotton-mouths and weak muscles, the only thing that ran through Peter’s mind was: oh bloody buggering fuck. He liked Remus. He fancied Remus.
Kind, sweet, awkward, smart Remus who was desperately in love with Sirius.
Everyone fancied Sirius. Hell Sirius probably fancied himself.
And Remus was his best friend. He simply wasn’t an option to date. So he pushed that thought down and got ready for the day. It seemed like the rest of the marauders had similar ideas as they had never brought up the whole snogging situation after that night.
The rest of fifth year passed quickly. Finals and exams and making good OWLS were significantly more important than the dynamic of their friendship and what not.
Peter spent the summer muddy, sweaty, and celebratory over his owls. He hadn’t done quite as well as the others, but he made an O in div and arithmancy, an EE in charms, potions, history, and astronomy and an A in transfiguration.
He’d go for his NEWTS in div, arithmancy, charms, potions, and astronomy. Peter figured he’d go into the Unspeakables. They were highly selective, and would look down upon his transfiguration OWL, but few people were good enough at divination to work in the prophecy sector. He had a shot, at least. But that wasn’t worth worrying about just yet.
Coiled like a clod, his eyes the home of hate,
Where rich the harvest bows, he lies in wait,
Linking earth's death and music, mate with mate.
Sixth year followed, and it was a year of revelations and observations.
They had grown over the summer, which was the first obvious observation. Remus was now the tallest at just over six feet, with James an inch below him, and Sirius a little shorter than Peter who stood at five feet, nine inches.
Purebloods tended to be on the shorter side, favoriting slight, slim physiques, and Sirius was no exception. Peter revelled in being taller than Sirius. Peter had also spent the summer with his muggle mother, who had him join the rugby team. Sirius might have been a beater, but quidditch didn’t build muscles quite like muggle sports. Peter had always been stockier, but the additional inches and layer of muscle gave him a solid body, rather than a chubby one.
Peter quite liked being bigger than Sirius.
He even started getting attention from birds and blokes alike, something he hadn’t ever experienced before. It wasn’t the same as kissing Remus, or even Sirius. But Peter liked the attention nonetheless.
Sixth year was a year of exploration and noticing new attractions in yearmates. For instance, Sirius had started noticing Remus. Stared at his large hands, the breadth of his shoulders, the way he smiled. Peter, of course, only noticed because he too was staring at Remus.
What Peter didn’t notice was that Sirius also starred James and his lips and the loping gait of his walk. What Peter didn’t notice was that Sirius watched Peter’s casual displays of strength, his hair, his subtle expressions, his arms.
Sirius had a nasty habit of falling in love, and Peter was no exception.
Sixth year was, all things considered, their “easy” year. There were no big final exams and the looming presence of the war seemed to fade in the walls of the castle. So this was the year they decided that they were going to become animagi.
It was also the year that Peter began to truly despise his friends. Sirius, for pursuing Remus, Remus for pursuing Sirius in turn, and James for saying something so cruel Peter would never forgive him.
They had spent the month with a mandrake under their tongue, taking a vow of silence for some reason or the other. No one really questioned it. James had just achieved his transformation the night before, the first of any of them, to no one's surprise. He was a stag, tall and proud.
They were all in the common room, chatting long into the night, and Peter left to use the washroom. He wasn’t gone for more than a few minutes, but when he came back, James had his back to Peter and was gesturing wildly to Remus and Sirius.
Peter didn’t hear all of it, but he certainly heard enough, for James said, “I dunno why you expect Pete to be able to transform. He’s never been that good at Transfiguration. He’s okay at div’ I guess, but he’s not all that talented.”
Remus said something, and Sirius stood up, angry, but Peter didn’t hear, couldn’t. There was blood rushing in his ears and he felt sick. All he wanted to do was crawl into a hole and die. He couldn't believe his best friend would say something like that. Did he truly think that Peter wasn’t talented?
His cheeks felt damp and he was humiliated. As he collapsed on his bed he felt his world shrink, and he slithered underneath his blankets, wanting to hide from the world. His thoughts were clearer, his feelings muted, his hurt dampened.
Sirius was in the room, Peter could taste, somehow instinctively knowing that the taste of gunpowder and cinnamon and cloves was Sirius.
He called out for Peter, who was unable to respond.
“Petey,” he cajoled, “I dunno where you’re hiding. James is a right twat for what he said, and Remi is giving him a piece of his mind. I’m sorry he said that, but you’re scaring me.”
Peter quite liked the sound of that, so he slithered out of the covers.
Sirius gaped, and Peter could taste the lemon-mint of surprise. Sirius held out his hands, and Peter slithered up, enjoying the warmth of a body.
With a smirk, Sirius said, “I know the perfect payback c’mon.”
Peter rode on Sirius’s shoulders down the steps and to the common room, which was still empty by virtue of being half past one. When Sirius reached the bottom of the steps, Peter could hear Remus berating James.
“I know we joke around, Jamie, but that was cruel of you. And thoughtless. I can’t believe you would say something like—“
Sirius cut Remus off.
“Beyond that, you’re wrong, James, look who I found under the covers in Remus’s bed.
Peter felt embarrassed. He thought he had hid in his bed, but he refocused on James, who was ashen, and Peter could taste the coppery scent of shame pouring off him.
James looked contrite, and Peter transformed back to clap him off the back and laugh it off.
When Peter went to bed, though, anger coiled in his stomach as he thought back to every cruel thing James had ever said. Every joke, every comment, every off-handed remark, which only served to fuel Peter’s anger. As he kept running through the years, Peter didn’t think he could ever forgive James.
The next day was awkward but James slowly warmed back up to Peter, taking Peter’s silence as absolution. It, of course, wasn’t. Peter didn’t think he’d ever like James again. Every joke from here on out only served as a reminder that James thought him stupid, powerless, and untalented.
Remus pulled out a book on muggle reptiles, and Peter’s animagus form was identified as an eastern diamondback rattlesnake. A venomous snake endemic to the southeastern part of the United States, patient, deadly, and easily camouflaged. Peter thought it was quite suitable.
Three days later Sirius morphed into a giant black cane corso, drooling and intimidating. That form equally suited Sirius.
A few days before the full moon, they decided that they needed new nicknames, befitting of their animagus (and werewolf) forms. James was bestowed with the nicknames Prongs, Sirius was Padfoot, Remus was eloquently Moony, and Peter was Wormtail, much to his distaste.
James explained that it was because snakes were basically overgrown worms and that he had a rattle for a tail, hence “Worm-tail,” but Peter hated that stupid nickname. Peter was a perfectly serviceable name, and Pete or Petey were entirely fine nicknames. There was no need to call Peter a worm!
But alas the group disagreed, and the Marauders were rechristened as Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs.
They spent the first moon as animagi, curled up on each other as rain pounded at the shingles, and Peter woke up positively covered in fur. He was a snake! This was a disgrace. Besides the fur, the nights as animagi had the unintended consequence of making them—“adopt traits,” would be the best phrase to describe it— act more like their animagus forms.
James was unbearably more cocky to the point that he and Sirius had begun butting heads, literally. He also started refusing to eat meat, something Peter didn’t understand in the least. It wasn’t like the Hogwarts elves served venison, for Merlin’s sake.
Sirius on the other hand would drape himself across the Marauders at any given moment, hanging off of them, and snapping at any and everyone who tried to split them up. A bloody guard dog was what he was.
Peter didn’t think he really showed any traits, but he did start eating ice mice by the dozen, nearly making himself sick off them. And of course the smells. Tastes? Tells? Peter had begun to perceive smells as tastes, salivating before dinner, and having… reactions… to individuals' scents.
Remus was distracting, with his taste of caramel, coffee, and rich chocolate. James was off-putting, tasting of the bitter, soapy pith of a grapefruit. Snivellus made his gums hurt with his body odour and an intense cologne that tasted like pepper and cedar.
Peter didn’t know if the smells were based on his prior perceptions of people or what they actually smelled like, because he really never gave any thought to it before. But now it was all he could think of. He wanted to devour Remus in a way he didn’t before.
Which was a problem, because Sirius had begun courting Remus. Not that Remus knew it was courting, but Peter sure did.
Peter’s da was a pureblood and he made sure that Peter knew the courting customs as such. So when Sirius began carrying Remus’ books, gave him a pianoforte piece he had written, began to create a proper distance between the two of them, and doused him in confectionaries of all kinds. Remus had no clue what came about the new changes in Sirius, and was rather hurt by them.
Peter saw it as an opportunity.
He was a Gryffindor , Peter reminded himself, as geared up to ask Remus out. Peter’s divination class had ended half an hour early, so Peter was going to snag Remus right after his arithmancy class and ask him out.
Peter was standing outside the classroom when Remus walked out.
“Oh hey Pete,” Remus called, and they fell into step with each other as they walked down the hallway.
Summoning up all his courage, Peter stopped, turned, and blurted out: “I know Sirius is courting you and I don’t want to force you to choose, but would you like to go out to Hogsmeade with me this weekend? It doesn’t have to be serious or anything, but I’ve fancied you for a while now, and I’d like to know if I have a chance.”
Remus blinked owlishly.
He remained silent for more than was probably socially acceptable, before he simply turned around, and walked away.
Peter didn’t have a word to describe the devastation he felt at that moment, standing alone in the dusty corridor. Beyond the fact his heart was broken, Remus hadn’t even bothered to say no! He just walked away.
With a lump in his throat, Peter walked up to the astronomy tower, which would be empty until half past nine.
Peter genuinely couldn't remember a time he felt so crushed; Remus turning his back replayed in his mind over and over.
The sun set and classes were long over when Sirius walked up the stairs and tore down Peter’s repellent spells. Sirius padded over and sat next to Peter. Softly, as if scared of Peter’s reaction, he said, “Moony told me what happened. He feels horrid and so do I. Pete I didn’t know you fancied Moony. I really didn’t.”
Peter didn’t respond.
“Moony told me to cut it out and that he wasn’t gonna pick between his best mates.”
“I’m sorry too,” Peter eventually said, “I should’ve just left it well alone.”
They both sat in silence, looking at the crescent moon just above. What the fuck had Peter gotten himself into?
The Marauders fell back into an uneasy mimicry of their old patterns, trying desperately to forget the messy feelings tangled between them all. It had mostly resolved itself, and they left it well alone for the rest of sixth year.
In vain the dog houses himself with men and their kin;
In vain the snake slides through the creepers and logs;
In vain the stag takes to the inner passes of the woods;
In vain, for they are all beasts who accursed to die
Seventh year was the year they couldn't ignore the war. Sirius had run away from home, Peter’s mum and da had moved to Switzerland, Remus was still blissfully pretending to be an ostrich, and all James could talk about was joining the order.
The Dark Lord was on a rise, backed by the oldest names and the most powerful duelers. Quite frankly he was terrifying, and he recruited relentlessly from Hogwarts. Peter knew Snivellus and Sirius’s brother had taken the mark, or at least would upon graduation, as well as most of Slytherin, half of Ravenclaw, and a few Hufflepuffs who nobody could name, but everyone murmured about.
Talent, they said, was what the Dark Lord was looking for, and Peter, holding the letter in his hand, couldn’t believe the Dark Lord thought of him as talented.
Apparently Snape had bitched about the Marauders just outside of a Death Eater meeting, they were discussed, and his talents with divination were of great interest to the Dark Lord. Even more surprisingly, the Dark Lord had quite strong beliefs in the importance of divination.
Wicked.
Peter didn’t really have a preference for which side of the war he ended up on as he saw the merits in both sides. Muggles were dangerous, dark magic wasn’t evil, and muggleborns needed to be more careful regarding wizarding culture. Of course, he didn’t think muggles should die or that muggleborns should be second-class citizens, he just thought that there was a way for all parties to come to a peaceful agreement.
James and Sirius were quite the opposite. They were some of the loudest voices against the Dark Lord, and so Peter was decently content to follow them and Remus.
Or he was, until he caught Remus and Sirius buggering in his bed.
Peter had forgotten his quills again, and so he was going to quickly dip into his room, grab the quills, and run to Potions before he was late.
However, upon entering, he was assaulted with the image of Remus, flushed, balls deep in Sirius, on his bed.
In a trance, Peter grabbed his quills, turned around, and walked out of the room. Vicious thoughts of vengeance and hurt and anguish spun through his mind, but the only one that stuck was: Perhaps he should respond to the Dark Lord’s letter. After all, spies were rather useful.
And well, dear reader, I believe you know the rest.