Lingering

The last time he was here, the house was falling apart, splitting and shaking and burning with the force of the reflected Killing curse. Now most of the wood had been carted off, and the artifacts of the Potter family had been snatched by witches and wizards who wanted a little bit of the legend. The remains were never built over, but lurked in Godric's Hollow like a scar. The denizens of the wizarding neighborhood kept the lot open with pride and reverence. There were a few old shrines, flowers on the front walkway that the truer friends of the Potters brought on the anniversary of the event.

Wormtail knelt by one of the mounds of flowers, the strong smell of putrid roses and baby's breath cloying at his senses, but he restrained a sneeze. He did not want to wake anyone up and arouse their suspicions. After all, who would pay their respects to the dead at three o'clock in the morning?

A traitor, he thought wryly, pressing his silver hand to the soil. Grass had grown over the rubble, weeds and flowers, even a bush that someone had planted. Looking up, Wormtail thought he saw the filthy, moldy folds of a baby blanket. It was gone before he could get a second look.

A traitor.

Sweat dripped down his forehead as he bowed his head.

*

He stared into his lap, round fingers playing with each other, blond-brown hair falling into his eyes. He was not listening to the laughs of the boys staring at him in the frame of the compartment door.

"Well, if it isn't the little Pettigrew finally out of the rubbish bin," the biggest boy said with a pleased sneer. "Can't even clean his clothes properly, can he?"

"Well, what about you?" a voice said from behind them. "Your mother still gives you a bath, doesn't she? Pity she doesn't wash out your mouth. Now go torture someone else."

The biggest boy looked behind him, turning pink. He backed away and gathered his dignity again. "You're lucky you're a Potter, or else I'd have to curse you for that."

"Because you're allowed to curse first-years, of course," Potter said, slipping into the compartment, followed by another boy with black hair, longer than Potter's. "Besides, Sirius knows more curses than you, and you know it. You've been to the Blacks' parties every time I've been there."

The biggest boy said something else, but it was muted in Peter's ear. He was looking at the boy named Potter.

"This is Sirius Black, and I'm James Potter," the boy said. "But you already knew that. You must be Peter."

Peter could not reply. Potter's arm was around his shoulder.

*

The streets were so silent, thick with whispers that really were not there. The man who knelt before the remnants of the house, once so charming and comforting, jerked, his glinting silver hand clutching at earth.

Traitor.

*

"Can I tell you a secret, Peter?" James murmured, sitting next to him on the couch where Peter was furiously trying to comprehend his Potions text.

"What, James?" he replied, not really paying attention.

James shut the book. Peter sighed and looked at him.

"We were wondering, Sirius, Remus, and I, whether you would like to do something with us," James whispered. "It's sort of..."

"Against the rules?"

"Illegal."

Peter's eyes went wide. "But..."

"It's not going to hurt anyone but us if that makes you feel better."

Peter grinned slowly. "This is beginning to sound interesting. Any sadomasochistic tendencies you want to tell me about, James?"

"Why?" James joked back. "Did you want to flog me? No, you strike as someone who might like a good flogging yourself."

Peter blushed.

"I like making you do that," James said.

"Yes, you do," Peter said. "And my ears go all hot. Stop that."

James's wicked, good-natured expression sobered, and Peter knew it wasn't anything that he could really joke about.

"Is it a girl, James? Is it Lily?" Peter asked.

James snorted. "No. Although that's another secret, but we can talk about that later. No, I'm not doing Lily with Sirius and Remus."

"Well, what is it?"

James leaned over. "Remember Animagism?"

*

Even for a while after they managed the transfiguration, he was still Peter. When did he first become Wormtail? When did he become this pathetic thing he was now, a wriggling, bowing weakling? He was always weak, but that was not the same thing. He knew that the creature now who scurried around the dark and the sewers just to move around and spy, the creature who became a rat occasionally, was not the same creature who sat on James's bed and waited for him to come back from a Quidditch practice because they promised to talk for a minute about a class Peter was struggling in. This creature was not the same creature who was the only one to dodge the Whomping Willow to let Remus into the Shrieking Shack and lead him out. This creature was not the same creature whose face glowed after answering something correctly in Transfiguration because of the study sessions and exploration into Animagism with his friends... his friends.

So when had he become Wormtail instead of Peter?

*

Of course Sirius was his best man, but he was there next to Sirius and Remus when James finally said the words that bound him to Lily Evans. Peter could not help but smile when Lily pulled James's head down to kiss him and when James pulled back with that silly grin on his face. He could not help clapping during all the pictures taken. He could not help dancing with Lily and kissing her on the cheek after the ceremony. He could not help embracing James and feeling that swell of pride and belonging when James laughed, that old, friendly laugh, and slapped him on the back, saying that now they had to find a girlfriend for him.

The four of us... we'll never really be apart, will we, James?

Of course not. You boys have to come over for dinner, or we could go out for a drink. I love Lily, but you three...

Wormtail had been ordered to sow discord among the Marauders. But he could not ruin James's day. He simply could not. No matter how the Dark Lord tortured him after the reception was over and his Dark Mark burned under the sleeve of his best dress robes.

*

Wormtail bent to the ground. He knew that he would be dirty after this was done, but he had to do this. He buried his face in the crook of his arm.

"I'm... I'm so sorry, James," he whispered into the ground. James had a gravestone, both he and Lily did. But this was where his soul had departed, and this was where Wormtail felt him. He felt every inch of hate, sorrow, betrayal.

Traitor.

"I'm s-so s-s-sorry."

*

Sirius was there when Harry was born. But Remus and Wormtail came a few days later. Lily giggled when the boys surrounded her and kissed her on each cheek.

Then James came in with Harry.

"I named Sirius the godfather, but... you two will be his uncles, right? Just in name, of course."

Even as a baby, Wormtail could see that Harry would look like James.

*

Yet it was so easy to tell the Dark Lord where the Potters lived. So easy after James made him Secret Keeper.

Why did James make him Secret Keeper? Because everyone would go after Sirius, then Remus. Who would go after Wormtail? Perhaps they would have gone after Peter, but not Wormtail. The thought made his lip curl.

So what if James was going to die? So what if James's son was going to die?

He had to go frame Sirius for their murder. After all, Sirius was James's best friend.

*

Pathetic.

He was not even a good traitor. No, he had to stay a rat, his true form, for twelve years. Not Wormtail, really, but Scabbers. Not that Scabbers was better, but at least he could sleep and eat and just listen. Sometimes he would withdraw into the rat when he remembered James. After seeing Harry on the train for his first year... he withdrew even more.

Then, in Harry's third year, he became Wormtail again. He begged, pleaded, slobbered over the shoes of first his old friends, then Harry and his friends, then the Dark Lord again. He had spent the rest of his life begging, on his knees like some pathetic worm, spineless coward who shamed the Gryffindor name.

Traitor. The words were not James's anymore. They were his own. His Dark Mark was disgusting to him. He loved his hand. It made him feel powerful. But here, on the walkway among the filth and weeds and other rats and vermin, he could have been the most powerful wizard alive, as he always wanted to be, and still he would have been kneeling there, his face hidden, his shoulders shaking, and the memories of the James he had loved seeping through his mind like poison.

*

"Harry!" Wormtail gasped, and he flung his arms around Harry's knees. "You - thank you - it's more than I deserve - thank you..."

"Get off me," Harry spat, throwing Wormtail's hands off him in disgust. "I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing it because - I don't reckon my dad would've wanted them to become killers - just for you."

He had not gone to Azkaban. He might as well have.

*

Wormtail could not restrain the feelings that were building up inside him, and he wailed to the sky there on the ground, his neck arched and the moon shining its light on his wet face - wet with sweat, tears, spit, and snot, filthy with the dirt from the ground. This was what he was, this dirty creature with blood on his hands. This was the rat. This was what he had become. He hated it, hated himself, hated the feeling that he was being watched by a stag.

Prongs.

He struggled to his feet, fumbled through his robes to find his wand, then pointed the wand at the moon where it hovered over the ruins of the house where the Potters died.

"Morsmordre!" he screamed at the sky. The Dark Mark shot out of his wand from the force of emotion behind it and joined the moon.

"Fuck you, James!" he sobbed. "Fuck you!"

And he scrambled for the sewer.