The Other Sort of Hero

The other sort of hero.

Peter Pettigrew wanted to be sorted into Hufflepuff; his parents' old house. He'd like it there, his mother always told him; plenty of friends to help you out if you found things difficult. "Hufflepuffs stick together," she'd said. But the Hogwarts Sorting Hat disagreed.

"Hardworking? I think not," it whispered inside his head as he sat there with churning stomach and shaking knees. "Not ambitious enough for Slytherin," it continued. "Not clever enough for Ravenclaw. Which leaves..."

"But I'm not brave either," he protested.

"Nonsense. You just don't think you are. Too late. For you it's GRYFFINDOR!" It shouted the last word out loud so that everyone in the Great Hall heard. One word to set a seal on his school career, putting him in the same dormitory as James Potter, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.

You couldn't refuse to join in with Potter and Black's pranks. Well, he could have, but then he'd have had no friends at all. Friends were important, particularly when you were small for eleven and everyone from other houses seemed to be out to hex you. After a while he learned that being terrified wasn't as bad as being abandoned.

Lupin obviously felt the same. "What if we get caught," he'd say. "I don't want to get into trouble."

"Don't be such a wet blanket," Potter replied. "You'll only get detention or lines."

"Or expelled," added Black, smirking. "I wouldn't mind getting expelled just to see the look on my mother's face."

"She can't be that bad," Potter said.

"You wouldn't say that if you met her."

"It's all right for you two," Peter said, because Lupin obviously wasn't going to speak up again. "Your families are wealthy enough to send you somewhere else if you're chucked out of Hogwarts. Mine aren't."

Black looked grim. "I wouldn't be sent anywhere else. I'd be dead, with my head up on the wall alongside the family's old house elves."

"So why don't we just stick by the rules and not go out of bounds all the time?"

Potter sighed. "Because that's no fun. I despair of you, Pettigrew. I really thought you were trying to get into the spirit of it."

"He's trying, all right," Black added. His jokes were never very funny.

You be careful of Sirius Black, wrote his mother in the first letter she sent from home. None of that family ever came to any good. Dark witches and wizards the lot of them.

They found out about Remus's "illness" in second year. Well, they'd learned about werewolves in Defence Against the Dark Arts, and Sirius put two and two together. Strangely, Peter found he wasn't frightened. If he'd managed to sleep in the same room as Remus for over a year without getting eaten or infected, he didn't see there was much to worry about. He wondered what his mother would have to say about that, if she knew. Sharing a dorm with a member of the notorious Black family and a dangerous Dark creature... all it needed now was for James to reveal he was a vampire.

They perfected the animagus transformation in Fifth year - James first, then Sirius. It eluded Peter for longer, until he despaired of ever mastering the technique. "I'm not cut out for this. I'm no good at Transfiguration."

"We're not going to let you fail." They tutored him until finally, one bright day in February, something clicked inside his head. He felt a strange imploding sensation in his stomach, then shied away as his wand clattered to the floor beside him, enlarged to the size of a small tree trunk. Wait, no. It hadn't got bigger. He was smaller. He was...

"A rat," Sirius chuckled. "A tasty morsel for a werewolf. Or a dog, for that matter."

"Stop teasing him. Think of the advantages. He can sneak into places we can't go."

"Like the girls' dorm!"

Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs, creators of the Marauder's Map. A inseparable bunch. Yet by the time they reached their last year, the world had become a different, dangerous place. There were tensions running through the wizarding world, all leading back to a name most people wouldn't even speak.

"Voldemort," James said. His family were the outspoken sort. "Word has it he was behind those murders in Diagon Alley last month."

"My mother thinks he's the best thing since ready-skinned shrivelfigs," Sirius added. "Says he's going to get rid of all the filth and the scum - which for her means pretty much everyone. Including me."

"Well, it's made up my mind what I'm going to do after school." James said. "I'm going to apply to become an Auror."

Sirius slapped his back. "Well done, Prongs. I think I might too, if they'll have me."

"They definitely won't have me," Remus put in gloomily. "Not if I was the last wizard left standing."

"They might have to rethink if there's a war."

Those last few months of the summer term it seemed everyone was talking about war; the older witches and wizards reminiscing about the last time and how it had brought everyone closer. Peter tried to put it to the back of his mind and concentrated on studying for his NEWTs. He'd need good results if he was to join his friends in the fight against evil. Yet deep down, a sneaking suspicion told him he wasn't up to it; the same voice that had cast doubts into his mind ever since he was sorted into Gryffindor.

In their last week, everyone was called to see the Headmaster individually. Peter had met Dumbledore several times, usually after getting into trouble, so he wasn't really looking forward to it.

"It's just about careers and such," Sirius told him, having been one of the first in by virtue of being close to the beginning of the alphabet. "Nothing to worry about." He'd been especially happy since his talk. Maybe Dumbledore had promised to put in a good word for him with the Ministry, although he wouldn't confirm or deny this. "It's highly confidential. You'll find out for yourself."

Remus didn't say much after his talk. Even the headmaster couldn't do much to change people's prejudices overnight. It seemed unfair.

When it was Peter's turn he went up the spiral stair with as much enthusiasm as when he'd gone forward to meet the Sorting Hat. Yet as soon as he went inside, Dumbledore went out of his way to make him feel at ease; a beaming smile, twinkling eyes over the half-glasses. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. He reminded himself that it wasn't a telling off, after all.

"Well, Peter. Have you enjoyed your time at Hogwarts?"

"Er, yes. I suppose so. I mean, I've made some good friends and..." he racked his brains. Better say something about the quality of the teaching. "I've learned lots."

"Not all of it in the classroom, either."

Dumbledore still smiled, but it made Peter feel a bit uneasy. Surely he couldn't have found out about their extra curricular activities? No one else would have given the game away, would they? He decided it would be best not to react. Of course Dumbledore didn't suspect. It was just a passing comment, nothing more.

The headmaster spoke again. "I see your OWL results were excellent. Far better than if we'd let you languish in Hufflepuff."

That was an odd thing to say. Surely it was the Sorting Hat who decided where people would be best suited, not the headmaster. "My parents were in Hufflepuff, sir."

"Of course, of course. And I'm sure they were happy there. But these are very different times we live in." He sighed. "Have you thought about what you want to do?"

"Um, well. I think I'd like to be an Auror. If my NEWT results are good enough, that is."

"Just like your friends."

Peter felt he should give a better reason. "We make a good team. And it's not just that. Everyone needs to do their bit in the fight against..." he paused. "You Know Who."

"Ah, yes. Voldemort." The headmaster regarded him. "You prefer not to speak his name?"

"Um, well, I do when I'm with the others, but I didn't think it was polite. I mean, it makes a lot of people uneasy. So I think it's best not to unless you know how someone feels." Made a pig's ear of that, he thought.

"And what about your friends. James and Sirius. Would they say it?"

"I think you should ask them, sir." Why did he feel like this was some kind of test? And how could he be sure he was giving the right answers?

Dumbledore leaned across the desk. A bag appeared in his right hand. "Sherbet Lemon?"

Peter took one automatically. He didn't really like them, but it kept the headmaster happy. "Thank you. I'll, er, save it for later if you don't mind." He put it into his pocket quickly.

"Becoming an Auror isn't the only way to 'do your bit', as you put it."

Peter knew what was coming next. Dumbledore would suggest he did something boring but worthy, like checking the thickness of cauldron bottoms for the Ministry of Magic. "I know that."

"Do you consider yourself to be brave?"

"Um, well... not really. Not like Sirius, or James, or even Remus."

"There are many different sorts of bravery. James now; James is the sort of person who stands up for what he believes in, and speaks up when others dare not. His whole family, as you may be aware, have been foremost in the fight against Voldemort. They serve as an inspiration for others."

Peter knew all too well what he meant. James had inspired him to do all sorts of things he'd never have dared alone.

"Then there's Sirius. Always the first to act, rushing in without stopping to think of the consequences. His is the kind of reckless courage possessed by only a few. And most of them are destined to live short but glorious lives."

That was true as well. It made Peter feel even more inadequate.

"Remus is brave too. He knows what it's like to face pain, to battle against seemingly insurmountable odds. His struggle will never end."

Peter felt compelled to speak before Dumbledore started on a summary of himself, which was bound to fall short in every way. "You're right. But I'm not like that. No one looks up to me. No one even notices me."

"And therein lies your own, particular talent. Although I feel obliged to say, Peter, that you underestimate your abilities. You may not be the archetypal hero - few of us are - but not all wars are fought in the open. Not all victories are won on the battlefield."

Here it came; the soft let down. Go for a desk job and let others do the fighting. "So what can I do?"

"The bravest, least recognised work of all." He paused, fixing Peter with a clear gaze that made him feel as if all his hopes and fears were laid bare. "Infiltration. Information."

The knut dropped. "You mean... spying?" He remembered his muggle-loving Uncle Bertie's sitting room, the TV screen flickering. The James Bond theme blasting out of the tinny speaker. Peter had a sudden, surreal image of himself dressed in a tuxedo and bow tie, with a raised wand instead of a Walther PPK. Several scantily clad girls gazed adoringly up at him.

Dumbledore smiled, as if he could see it too. "It's a dangerous life. But believe me when I tell you that it is people like yourself who will make the difference in this coming war."

"So I'd have to pretend to... I'd have to join with Voldemort?" He didn't even know where he would start. It wasn't as if the Dark Lord put advertisements in the Daily Prophet reading, "evil minions required."

"I'm afraid that is the only way. As I said, it will be dangerous. And your contributions may never be recognised - not officially. But you will know and I will know. And together we may bring about the end of tyranny."

It was a stirring speech. Peter felt that if the headmaster felt he was capable to perform such a task, then he must be. Dumbledore knew everything, pretty much.

"But before you begin - before you even agree to begin - I must be frank. In order to convince them of your loyalty you may need to do things you find... unsavoury. You will have to pretend to be someone you are not."

"I can do that. I'm a good actor." And what Peter couldn't do, Wormtail might.

"I won't lie to you, Peter. If you decide to accept - if you are prepared - then whatever I ask of you, you must do, no matter how terrible it seems. Sometimes the innocent must be sacrificed before good can triumph."

Years later, those words would come back to haunt him.