The Rats of Azkaban

Peter Pettigrew was nearly forty years old. Up until today, he had only ever regretted two things in his life: killing his Mudblood mother as part of his Death Eater initiation, and getting caught by Sirius and Remus in the Shrieking Shack three years ago.

It troubled him. Burning, tearing, gnawed at him.

The life debt to Harry Potter.

Peter would have sneered if he could have, but that was always Snape's trademark.

James would have laughed at the irony, had he not been rotting six feet under.

Lily would smacked James on the back of the head for laughing, had she not been rotting six feet under with him.

"Lucky bastards," Peter snarled under his breath.

"Who?"

Peter looked up at studied the boy in front on him. Short and slender, taking after Lily in body size more than James. Peter, when he had first seen the boy as an eleven year old, often wondered how much the boy had gotten to eat while he was with those Muggles. His face was sharp and pointed, more defined than Lily's but less angular than James. The lines made themselves noticed, but not enough that the lines dominated the face.

No, what dominated Harry Potter's face had to be the scar. That jagged lightening bolt that testified to the entire world, "I'm Harry Potter, Poster Boy for all that's Good in the World, the Boy-Who-Lived, the one who took down Voldemort."

Or perhaps it was the eyes, Lily's large green eyes, centered in the middle of a softer version of James's face.

"Your parents." Peter finally answered.

Harry snorted. "What? Because they're dead and not able to see what a disgrace you've become? Because they still have their illusions that you are their friend and loved them?" Peter flinched. Bad enough he was stuck in Azkaban with Potter thanks to one of Lucius Malfoy's brilliant ideas. Sometimes Peter questioned the intelligence of his master, the Portkey plot had failed once already, who was to say it wouldn't fail again? The Dark Lord's penchant for bantering with Harry was what allowed the boy to get away from him many times before. And now, thanks to Lucius Malfoy, and Peter was going to get him for that, they were stuck together in a cell in Azkaban until the Dark Lord showed up. Peter shivered a bit; at least the Dementors were gone to terrorize Hogwarts. He had seen the visceral effect they had on Harry in the boy's third year, Peter remembered the screams they conjured up for him. That brief experience was more than enough for him. And he didn't want to make things worse by carrying on a conversation with the child. "Why did they ever become your friend? Or did you just tag along long enough that the three of them accepted you because they were too tired of trying to get away from you?"

"Shut up," Peter warned. Harry had no idea what he was talking about.

"You're a fool. A blind, useless, fool. Even Voldemort doesn't want you," Harry laughed.

Peter hated being laughed at. "SHUT UP!" He roared. Harry continued to laugh. And laugh. And laugh. The rich sound floated through the empty room and echoed. Peter covered his ears with his hands, the silver one blocking more of the noise out than the flesh one. Harry was still laughing, a deep belly laugh, the kind that only comes with true amusement, true joy. He could almost believe the Dementors might recede in the face of that laugh. "Please," he whimpered. "Please, stop. Please."

Harry stopped and studied Peter. "Answer the question." It was not a request. It was a demand. Peter recognized the tone of voice; it was an entirely odd experience to hear the Dark Lord's words from Harry Potter's mouth. He whimpered again, and buried his face in his hands. Peter took a deep breath, the voice had promised pain beyond imagining if he didn't comply. He leaned back on his cot, feeling the cold stones of the cell wall against his back. He saw a rat in the corner, it's nose twitched, as if it smelled food. Peter scowled at it before transferring his scowl to Harry. He owed the boy a life debt. At the very least he deserved an honest answer. Peter wondered if Harry had ever questioned the traitor like this. Maybe that was where he had learned the tone of command. Severus always had been good at telling others what to do.

"I grew up with James and Sirius. We all lived near each other. I was the one who discovered that Remus was a werewolf. I was the one who discovered that Animagi could lessen the effects of the werewolf transformation. I was the one who introduced James to Lily, she was in Ravenclaw. I was the one who ran interference between James and Sirius and Malfoy and Snape so that James and Sirius wouldn't get into trouble with the teachers. I was the one who tutored them all in Potions because it was the only thing I was good at and they all hated it. I loved them, I did everything for them, but I wasn't as strong as they were, and they deserted me when I needed them." Peter found himself shouting by the end of the speech.

Harry was staring at Peter. He couldn't take that gaze. He couldn't stand Lily's eyes, James's face, Voldemort's command, and Harry's simplicity all in one package. He couldn't. "Did you believe the crock of shit Voldemort was selling?"

Peter stared at the young man, refusing to let Harry see how enraged the question made him. It was something Sirius might say, something designed to hurt and ravage. It was the way Aurors talked to trapped Death Eaters. "It was true then, and true now. Muggles are slowly destroying the world we all live in. They're pushing us out, they'd kill us all if they could, they have the means to do it."

"They wouldn't."

"You have far more faith than I do." Harry laughed. "I met the Dursleys once you know." Peter smiled as Harry froze momentarily. When the response came, it came quietly, rather than the explosion James or Lily would have wrought.

"...What?"

"Lily invited me over during the summer before our third year. Her sister, Petunia, was five years older, and dating this brute of a man, Vernon Dursley. Lily used to tell me it was because he was the only one who would have her, and vice versa. Vernon hit me on my last day of stay, gave me a nice shiner. I was only there for a week. I wonder what they did to you for seventeen years."

"...Are you trying to recruit me?"

"No, just trying to make you see reason."

"And what do the Dursleys have to do with logic?"

"Muggles are all like that. They're afraid of us. It's human nature to hate what you're afraid of. It's human nature to try and rid yourself of what your're afraid of."

"Doesn't that apply to the Wizarding fear of Muggles too?"

Peter shrugged. He had no real answer for that, even though he knew the man was right.

"Did you ever try to tell them that?"

"Tell who what?" The rat in the corner of the cell had ventured into the middle of the room. Peter found himself watching it closely, following the movements of the nose as it sniffed out new food.

"My parents. Sirius. Remus. Dumbledore. Someone. Anyone who would listen."

"No."

"Why not?" Harry seemed genuinely puzzled. Peter wasn't sure what to make of the conversation, he had become lost in the twists and turns.

"Would you ever have to say how you feel about the Dark Lord to Hermione and Ron?"

Harry shook his head, looking slightly puzzled. "No. I don't have to. They know how I feel." As soon as he said it, Peter saw understanding dawn in his eyes. "I'm sorry."

Peter stood up, and began pacing the square confines of the cell. He couldn't stand it. Being trapped in a six by six space with Harry Potter, with the past, with the life debt, with forgiveness. He couldn't stand it. He watched the rat scurry back into the corner, looking for a safer place to hunt than under Peter's feet.

Peter stopped. He sighed loudly. "They are lucky bastards, you know." He closed his eyes and changed into his Animagus form, the rat. It was small enough that he could fit under the cell door. He left, and went looking for the keys.

The past was in the past, Peter supposed. Best to live in the moment and make do with what you have.