From Rat, With Love

Dear Pads,

(this sounds ridiculous after everything that happened, but I don't care). I'm not writing this because I want to apologize. I'm not making excuses, either. I never do, as you know well, Padfoot. I just want to explain some things, is all.

I've never been any good at writing letters. I don't know where to begin. Moony, being a smart-ass as always, would probably tell me to begin at the beginning, go trough it to the end, and stop there (and would do it in his perfect British accent, although he's Welsh). But, it's sort of difficult to decide where the beginning is - and the beginning of what, as well: beginning of our friendship, beginning of our alienation, or what? At least it's clear where the end is. But I won't start with the end (although Moony would probably tell me I could do that as well. He'd call it retrospection).

It was only you and me at first, remember, Pads? You, the big bear, who couldn't control his temper, and who'd start a fight over anything at all. Irritating, and yet good natured, in your grudging way. And me: I've always wondered how did you see me when we were eleven. Little Peter, right? Little helpless Peter, is that it? Someone who needs your precious protection... But I don't want to be bitter now, I'm trying to look at all that objectively (although it's of no use now, is it?). Anyway, I know what I thought of myself. I was insecure, that's right, but I never wanted to be liked as much as you and Jamesey seemed to think later on. I was just cheerful type of person, is all. Liked to communicate with everyone, talk to everyone, joke with everyone. It's not wanting to be liked, it's... Oh, I don't know what it is, honestly, I'm not good at self analyzing. It's not the point, anyway. The point is... that we were friends, you and I, Pads. You protected me from the big bad boys, or so you liked to think, and I let you - it meant so much to you, being protective and overprotective, didn't it? And I? I tried to protect you, as unlikely as that seems; to protect you mostly from yourself. Fortunately, you never noticed. How would you have reacted, big-bad-dog-you, if you knew little Peter looked after you?

But those were good times, weren't they. Black-Pettigrew team pulling all sorts of pranks on evil Slytherins... and stupid Hufflepuffs... and cowardish Ravenclaws... How full of prejudices we used to be, didn't we, Pads? Later in life you learn that a wizard or witch can turn out good no matter from which House they come. Or turn out bad, either. I know all about that, believe me. The Sorting Hat is just a big cheating git. No one can read your mind. At the age of eleven no one and nothing can know what you are like. Dorcas Meadowes was a Slytherin, remember? And look at her now, Dumbledore's creature from top of her wand to her big butt. But - I'm rambling again (as I always do). It's difficult to keep talking coherently, about what I wanted to talk about. About myself, and you, Pads, and Moony and James. I hate to admit it, but it hurts to remember it all. But - let it hurt. Pain is good. When you are in pain, at least you know you're alive. What's wrong with pain? But, it's not what I wanted to say at all.

I wanted to talk about our friendship, yours and mine, Pads. What a team we were! What a team... And then James came. You used to hate James in the first term of our first Hogwarts year. Oh, how you hated him! I bet you don't remember, do you, Pads? But, there was that damned accident with the broomstick, and Prongs as good as saved your life. I tried to do it too, but I've never been much of a flyer. James was. Showing off, so full of himself, always with a winning grin on his face. One couldn't help loving James, that arrogant bastard. I know I couldn't. I disliked James as long as you did, and as soon as you became friends with him, I did too. I didn't have much of a backbone, did I? Only, I've never thought in terms of backbones and pride and such. You did. Prongs did. Even our kind, oh-so-sweet-person Moony did. I could never understand that, I'm afraid. Who cared about having or not having a backbone if you were friends with someone. The friendship was the only thing that mattered, is all.

I won't say James ruined our friendship, though I think you'd expect it. He changed it, for sure, but not every change is for worse. I loved our Prongs, no doubt about that. Prongs, with his petty deviousness and his big heart and his winning grin. You two became best friends, inseparable, so tightly bonded that it seems almost impossible for eleven years old kiddies. I was jealous at first, I have to admit that. Jealous of James because you gave him so much of your time (the time that you previously shared only with me). But also jealous of you, because Prongs hung out with us because of you, not me. He was your friend, and I felt like a... luggage (to quote a certain muggle book I've read once).

But, that passed away, too. I know I always babbled unstoppably, but sometimes I thought about things too, no matter what you or James claimed. I knew friendship between you and me, Pads, was different than your and James'. I won't say closer or less close or anything. Just... different. And it felt good to realize that. In time, I developed such a friendship with James, too. He didn't look on me with the same eyes he looked on you, but I had my part, a role that belonged solely to me. I didn't envy either of you any more. You two protected me (and at the time there really were many people who wanted to beat me up because of my sharp tongue and mocking comments), and I... I considered it to be my mission to cheer you two up. James didn't need so much of that - self secure, charming bastard. You, on the other hand, had your dark moods rather often. Sirius-guilt-trips, Sirius-misanthropic-tantrums, Sirius-melancholy-nights. Such. (and I don't think you were even twelve at the time! Always overly mature, we were...) Who else would listen to your adolescent agonizing but little Peter? Who else would sit with you for hours, make you see the meaninglessness of it all, and then make you laugh at it until you rolled over? I could have been a good psychologist, don't you think, Pads, hadn't I become a Deatheater.

Remus... What to say about Remus? Silent, sharp minded, and lonesome. That boy could listen to an entire conversation between us, a conversation consisting mostly of me and James competing who can shout louder and be wittier, and your roaring laughter and wicked comments. And Remus... Remus would sit, and listen intently, and say maybe four sentences for the whole evening. Only, his comments were sharper than mine and Prongs' by far, and he was usually even more devious than you. But, while you roared and shouted, Moony sat and grinned slightly, and made us beg him tell us what new wicked idea he had in mind. The things people said about Remus at school - that he was shy, and oh-so-introverted, poor lonesome kid, searching for escape in his books... Remember how we laughed when we heard someone's description of Remus? Remember that, Pads? Well, I think no one ever knew him as well as we did... Introverted, yes, he surely was. Only, he wasn't shy. He belonged only to himself, and was proud like hell about it. He used to have that way of looking down at people, as if he knew a fantastic secret, and wouldn't share it with others only because... because he enjoyed keeping it for himself. And I don't mean his condition was that secret. It was a... secret in general. Knowledge of life, space, and everything else. You know what I am talking about. That silent arrogance so characteristic of our favorite werewolf. And as for 'looking for escape in books' as someone nicely put it... Well, I remember Remus looking for a way to draw an intelligent map, for a way to contact someone trough a mirror, such things. He never mentioned looking for escape, though.

You used to be my bestest friend ever, Pads, you know that. And James was the kindest, noblest arrogant bastard that could exist... One just had to love him. But Moony... I think Moony was the most...likable of us all. He never asked for anything, he never required anything. He just was there, making us fuss about him without even having to move that little finger of his. He made us feel honored by his very presence, little bastard. And the worst thing is, he was never aware of any of it. Absolutely and blessedly ignorant of effect he had on people. Thank Merlin for that.

I don't think I was ever jealous of Remus the way I used to be jealous of Prongs, or you. But, I had never been close with Remus the way I was with you. I never... worshiped him the way I worshiped James. Come to think of it, you were the one who was closest with Moony, weren't you, Pads? Isn't it strange that I never came to think of this? Hot tempered, roaring, fighting Padfoot. Big bad dog. It was you that was the bestest ever friend of James's, the bestest ever friend of mine, and even Remus was much closer with you than with any of us. Who'd think that of you, Pads? Indeed, who would...

And now I'm smiling. I haven't smiled in ages, and it feels... strange. Not good, and not bad. Simply... strange. Are there still memories that can make the eyes of a mass murderer swell with some silly salty water? I don't think so, actually. The person behind those eyes is just the last remnant of the Wormtail you knew, and that doesn't exist any more. The last small remnant, soon to be exterminated (and I won't say any more on the subject because you'd think it's self pity. Always measured the world by your own measurements, haven't you, Pads? You know you would sink into self pity in such a situation, so you think everyone would. Well, what I am sinking in at the moment is mud and spit and shit. And it's my own bloody choice.)

This turned to be such a long letter... Our-melancholic-Sirius could call it 'bitter-sweet'. Well, I call it pathetic. But who cares? What I am trying to say is that I didn't intend to write bloody memoirs of 'the magnificent four', the 'Marauders' (the name Moony was so proud of!). I just wanted to explain some things, and lo! to explanation we come! I had this dream the other night, you see, Pads. I dreamt of you, and there was Moony, also, and Prongs all covered in blood (without his mudblood wench, thank Merlin). And none of them would look at me, only you did. I expected you to attack me, try to kill me or something. Or yell at me, tell me everything you thought of me (me-dirty-traitor, heh?). But you didn't. You were silent, Padfoot, as you never have been in the waking world. And you just looked me right in the eyes, as if you asked me why? Why, Wormtail? Why?

Well, the letter was supposed to be the answer to that, as well as the last goodbye to Peter-Wormtail-Pettigrew that I'm not any more and will never be again.

It began and ended with that bitch Lily. How I hated her from the first day Prongs sighed because of her. The moment she came, everything we had - began to fall apart. Haven't you noticed that? James was in love with her head over heels, we all knew that. But there was also you, Padfoot, with your Arthur-Gwenwifar-Lancelot fancies you tried to hide from the rest of us (and still, you wanted us to discover about them and pity you, didn't you?). You weren't in love with Lily, I think - you were in love with your own 'tragic' love for her. I could forgive that bitch anything, but not turning you into a Byron. It didn't suit you, Padfoot, and I felt that I was loosing my two best friends at the same time. It was not that I felt left behind or anything (well, I certainly did, but it's not the point I'm trying to make). It was that I was losing you, losing James, the way you were before... her. I think even Remus fell for her in his silent, withdrawn way. Only, I could not lose Moony because he had never been entirely here with us. But James had been! And you! And suddenly I was faced with two strangers who called themselves my friends.

That was the first time in my life I actually felt hate! What a good feeling it was too! Noble melancholy and bitter-sweet suffering might have been invented by you, or Moony, but it wasn't for me. I've never been sophisticated enough, I guess. But my feelings were clear, Pads. On one side there were friendship, loyalty, and love; on the other side waited hatred and revenge. Nothing in between, Pads, you see? I just had to step over the line.

Only, it wasn't that simple, of course. Nothing was simple at the time. I made one wrong step; then another. After that, the third step was inexplicably easy. Oh well, when I put it this way, it sounds as if I'm blaming it on circumstances or something. But, no Pads, it was my bloody choice. I rankled like hell, for sure, and felt split in half, and had guilt trips even you would envy me on. But, at one point I realized - no, it's not what you think, Pads, I didn't realize that it was too late to turn back or something - I realized that I have already made my choice. If I could wonder about the things I wondered about, if I could even think of such an alternative - well, it was clear my choice was already made. By me.

I felt so relieved to finally feel hatred. No fooling myself any more. Hate. Revenge. That was what I had chosen, and that was what I intended to live with and bath in and feed on. Anything else had to be left behind. Oh, I hated myself for it, of course, but I perversely enjoyed that self-hatred. I don't think you can understand it, Pads. Well, feels like self pity, only better. Without sadly-ish nuances. Oh, but it's not bitter-sweet, so I don't think you would like it. Moony could understand it, perhaps. He's a wolf (well, a part-time wolf, anyway), not a pathetic dog tamed by humans.

Don't listen to me, Pads, I'm just trying to hurt you, I guess. But today isn't my day, you see. I should be an expert on hurting, by now, and I could do far better than this. It's Wormtail meddling in again, I suppose.

What was I talking about? Hatred? And self hatred, yes. You see, Sirius, sinking in it is what makes it worth everything. When you begin to sink, you don't want to pull yourself out. It sounds sick, I know; it is sick. That's why it feels the way it does. You sink and sink and sink, deeper and deeper into mud and dirt and shit. You roll in it. You feast in it, in your own dung, going deeper and deeper down. Your nostrils are filled with clay, so that you can't breathe. You choke. And you bloody enjoy it.

Yes, I did betray James. And, on top of it, I cast the blame on you. Wasn't it artistic?

I hate you, Sirius, perhaps even more than I hate James. I don't hate that mudblood wench of his any more, she doesn't deserve it. This was my revenge, and it was sweet. I hate myself for it, and I love the feeling. Revenge...

I didn't hurt poor Moony, why would I? He didn't do anything to me, he only was there, somewhere, like he always had been. Well, I actually did hurt him by hurting you, but it was unintentional. Not that I apologize, of course. I never do.

As I said, I hate you, Sirius.

Only, that doesn't mean I hate Padfoot, the Padfoot I had spent the best time of my life with, the Padfoot that will always be Wormtail's bestest best friend. Only, Padfoot doesn't exist any more. Neither does Wormtail. The last scraps of Wormtail that had been are leaking out trough my quill at the moment, trying to finish this letter that will never be sent.

So, while there is still a trail of Wormtail in me, good bye, Pads. And rest in peace.

Love,

Rat