I Know You Know Who I Am.... (Peter centric one shot 852 words)
It was over. All Peter had done had been for nothing. James and Lily were dead. The Dark Lord is gone. He was supposed to protect Peter, to be there for him, now he left him all alone. He hadn't wanted to, but blaming Sirius was the only way out of it. He did regret it at times, most of the time even, betraying his friends. But when he looked at the ink adorning his wrist, he knew he did what he had to do. It was all in vain now, he supposed, with Voldemort gone there would be no one to restore blood purity to the wizarding world. Peter lost all the power he had. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for him.
He was hiding out in America for now, until he figured out a better plan. There was a low chance of him being recognized there, and if he was supposed to be dead it would be best, he stayed out of Britain. He rented a small apartment in a small city, trying to keep a low profile as possible. It was easy to copy and duplicate muggle money as well, so there was no need for him to work and heighten the chances of getting caught, it was just simple pieces of paper.
Now he sat at a small bar near where he was staying. It wasn't busy, it being a weekday and all. He was sipping on his beer while looking out the window, muggle alcohol tasted so weird, a familiar figure reflected in it. His eyes focused into his drink on the reflection of James Potter. He rubbed at them, but when he looked back the reflection was gone.
Must’ve been a trick of the light…
Peter left the bar soon after that, flagging down a taxi back to his apartment. He took the stairs up, as the lift had been broken and his landlord had refused to mend it.
As he reached his floor, he felt a chill run up his spine as though someone was watching him. He spun around and saw James standing behind him, a few stairs down. Peter felt the color drain from his face as he looked down at his old friend.
James only stood with a soft smile and Peter stepped back. Then he blinked and James was gone, leaving Peter standing there, staring at the now empty staircase.
Breathing hard, he walked into his apartment and made his way to bed.
It was nights like these, laying on his lumpy mattress staring at the water-stained ceiling, when he thought about all the what if’s.
What if he never became a death eater?
What if there was a way he could have gotten the Dark Lord to spare James?
What if he had told Dumbledore?
What if he had never become a spy?
What if he had told James?
What if, what if, what if.
It doesn’t matter now, it’s done.
A clattering sound came from the kitchen and Peter shot up, grabbing his wand.
“Who's there?!” He called, trying not to let his fear show through his voice.
He walked slowly into the kitchen, but it was empty. He breathed a quick sigh of relief, but turned to find James, again, just standing there.
He gasped and his instinct took over as he shot a binding charm as James, only for it to go right through him. It? He didn’t know what James was, what he should consider him. If he was really still here, haunting Peter, or if he was only imagining him as the guilt ate at his subconscious.
“WHY ARE YOU HERE?!” He yelled, shooting another binding charm.
“WHY WONT YOU GO AWAY?!” Peter continued to send spells at James, who only stood there smiling the soft, almost defeated, smile that he always did, as though he wasn’t looking at the friend who had betrayed him, causing the death of him and his wife.
After a while Peter stopped, leaning against the counter, staring back at his friend. James still stood there, but now his smile had become sad, not a frown sad, but just a sad, empty, smile.
They stood there for a moment, only staring at one another.
“I’m sorry,” Peter choked out, “I’m so sorry James.” He could get it out in only a cracking whisper, as though trying to speak through tears.
James still didn’t speak, only giving a small nod, and with that he disappeared once more.
Peter sank to his knees as his friend left him for the second time.
That would be the last time he saw him, until September 1st, 1991, when he went again on the Hogwarts express, this time sitting as the pet rat on a young ginger boy’s shoulder. The boy entered a compartment and Peter saw him. It was as though he had traveled through time as he stared at the boy, no older than 11, with his dark mess of hair and round glasses that looked too big for his face. The face that looked exactly like his old friend.
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