Better Stick Together

"Mr. Pettigrew... Peter, I knew you'd be one of my brave boys."

Ah, why does the echo of those hearty words in my mind make me nervous again? This can't be a big deal. Almost everyone from school, every Gryffindor I know, at least, must be a member by now. It was all fine to get away from my people, to get all the way to Wales finally, but this is where I belong, with my friends, and if it must be in war and in the Order, all right...

Remus hugging me was kind of unnerving, too. The bulky leather jacket almost hides it, but he is thinner than I remember. Now, leaning against the bar, waiting for his turn, he's just grinning like they all used to. "Tea? It's on me. I have credit here."

So that's why he wanted to meet at this Muggle café. I think he's worked here, too... washed dishes.

"Nice jacket." My words come out as mere muttering while I follow him, balancing my cup, and I wonder if he can hear. "Not quite your style," I add when sitting down opposite to him.

He squints at the sunlight which pours in on his side of the table through the smudgy window pane, and takes off the jacket, letting it drop over the back of the chair. No, he doesn't look embarrassed. There's a dreamy smile on his pale face. "No. It's Sirius's. He made me take it."

The jumper is definitely his - has been his for years and probably somebody else's before that.

As I only eye him carefully over the rim of my cup, he continues, "I moved back to his place."

"Oh... When?"

His hands disappear to his lap for a moment, and he's folded the frayed cuffs. He takes up his cup with his both hands and places his elbows on the table, takes a sip before replying. "Right after we heard about Regulus."

A couple of days after his last letter to me.

"I... we," he says with another irritating smile, "realised we'd better stick together. It's great you decided to join, too. I thought you wanted to stay out of this. "

"Well... You kind of convinced me it was important."

"You have a flat in London yet?"

"No. I took a room at the Cauldron."

He's put his cup down and joined his hands under his chin. "You'll find something. Better not in the neighbourhood where I used to rent when I was on my own. I remember you didn't like the smell. Dumbledore can help you."

"He seemed happy I finally accepted the invitation."

"Of course," he says, glancing quickly around. "The Order needs more soldiers. And he remembers you were not too bad in Defence or Transfiguration... "

"Soldiers? You don't mean... You've told me it's been mainly... gathering and processing information. As you're not - we're not Aurors like James and Sirius."

In his letters he admitted that there were disadvantages, like the lack of salary. To be used by Dumbledore as a member of the Order was more than a desired job for him. An honour, proof that he was regarded as worthy... And almost like having a family again, after he'd lost his parents. He just hardly had time to even try to find any paid work. I read between the lines that he was starving. He needed a friend to take care of him, although he didn't want to admit it. But I didn't get the impression that his safety was at risk because of this membership.

"You know, someone like me... is treated differently. I'm so scared sometimes for the others, and I feel so guilty when Dumbledore must keep me out of situations where I could end up killing. You know, because this thing about losing your human soul by embracing the... beast, if you ever taste human blood. I'd be no use to the Order after that, and I'm also his great experiment of keeping one of this kind as human as possible. You know that's why those friends of his gave me the scholarships and let me study further, to see if it's possible for a part-human... "

His voice gets softer and softer, and it's easy to stop listening. I watch him instead.

He rubs his knuckles with his chin, looks down at them, hardly resists touching his lips to the spots where the skin is chapped to the point of bleeding.

I could bet he didn't have gloves to wear in the winter. But now it's getting warm again, and he's with Sirius.

He looks at his empty cup, and starts picking at a scab on his wrist.

"So that's not from a mission?"

"What? No. I told you, I don't get that kind... This is from last time, just before we got back together, and the stag couldn't make it there either. Now... "

I wonder if he isn't a bit sad he has no chance to get wounded. He's always loved his wounds, at least showing them to me, wearing the same bandages until they are soaked through, so I get feeling sick. Unlike him I can hardly stand the sight of... the thought of... Yes, I wanted to stay away from all... bloodshedding. And now he's fooled me into this.