beautiful war

peter ewan pettigrew, twenty three years old, bartender for the white wyvern, ex- gryffindor, ex-marauder, ex order member halfblood | death eater | betrayer | lost cause

[ratboipeter]

narcxssamalfoy·:

Despite the current state of affairs, Narcissa had finally managed a partial day without a sour mood finding her. The entire morning and early afternoon were centered around Draco and Seraphina – most of the hours were spent in her art room, a place she wasn’t allowing them lately. It was the only refuge she had from the outside. The silence was welcome and Narcissa could think clearly when she was painting. However, in lieu of locking herself away behind closed doors, Narcissa set up the twins corner of the room. She’d sat between the two, teaching them only the few things their developing brains could comprehend such as repeating patterns and designs in the environment. It was times like these she treasured most and held dear to her heart. Being a parent, a mother, was a privilege and Narcissa tried not to forget that. Even if they tended to drain her energy. 

With the twins down for a nap during the next hour, Narcissa set foot into the drawing room with a glass of wine in hand – her mood plummeted at Peter’s greeting. Of course, the alleviation could only last for so long before she was brought back to reality. She didn’t give any indication of acknowledging his words, instead pointing out the goblet. “Peter, behave yourself. I’d prefer it if you didn’t leave your beverages on the drawers. There is a perfectly, fine table right behind you for that and I’ll ask that you use it.” Narcissa strolled over to her usual chair, allowing herself to get comfortable and take a breather before the twins woke up. “Since we’re here, I’d like to talk with you for a moment – if you happen to not mind?” 

At Narcissa’s orders, Peter lifted his goblet off of the chest of drawers. Unable the small smirk on his features but albeit obeying her instruction to pop it on the table beside.  Holding up his hands in a feigned apology, “My apologies, I’m not quite used to this upper echelon lifestyle.  Especially not at the bar. You’re lucky if peoples drinks even make it to a surface before spilling over the floor.” A behaviour that Peter was well used to. having been practically raised in his father’s pub in Chudley.  Working in a pub had been the one constant in Peter’s life.

Knitting his eyebrows together, Peter nodded. Slightly unsure of what Narcissa wanted to chat about. Her tone seemed serious, not seeming to be heading in the jovial direction that their interactions typically embarked on.  “Of course, is everything alright?” Genuine concern,  Narcissa had been one of the first people to show him an inch of kindness upon his change of faith. Peter considered her a friend.  Tapping at the seat beside him. Peter tilted his head. “Mind if I sit?” @narcxssamalfoy·

[ratboipeter]

heartlessbella·:

Despite being significantly older than her estranged cousin, Bella had been aware of his actions in Gryffindor while he had been in school. She had heard the rumors and whispers that he had made a small group of boys his new friends, never having known them personally, just having knowledge of them. She was skeptical when she found one of those little friends had joined the Dark Lord’s ranks but she knew better than to test any judgements so she kept her opinion to herself and viewed Peter as an ally until he proved otherwise. With everything happening so quickly at the Dark Lord’s downfall, she had expected someone like him to return to his band of friends, like it had been some ploy but she didn’t hear of any of that happening. If what she had gathered from Lucius and Narcissa’s opinions on him, he was on their side and that was that. The fact that he was standing her conversing with her and not turning to grab some Aurors’ attention, proved to her that for the moment he wasn’t the friend of Sirius he once was. Her lips formed into a proud smirk, instilling fear into everyone around her was something she had been doing since she was a child but it still gave her a ego boost to hear people were still terrified of her presence. “No, I doubt he’s taking it lightly,” She shrugged her shoulders, once the warrants had been announced it had been better to just drop contact with her sister and brother-in-law for a minute. Maybe they were forcing their hand and pushing the Ministry out or maybe they were agreeing to everything to save themselves, she really didn’t know. “I’m sure we’ll hear of it if they find that his drawers are filled with nothing but the most mudane of things.”

When Peter first joined the death eaters, it felt odd. Conversing with people who he used to pass with a stony glare.  It thrust him into a word hat he wasn’t used to,  a world filled with glamour and crystal goblets and a refinery that Peter still could not respect.  Not to mention, his blood-status which Peter was well aware a few of his fellow Death Eaters still sniffed at.  A product of the working-class, Peter didn’t indulge in the chin-wagging about new dining room tables cascaded with jewels and gold donning their necks. In fact, it monotonously boring to him. There was a certain sense of irony that the people he slag off with Sirius were now the people who he conversed with the most often.  Peter Pettigrew would never relate to their lifestyle, status or upbringing.  But at least, he had his own ground to stand on. Not one built off of family, power or wealth. While other death eaters had been raised in a palace of misery, he had built his own.  Not a vice to be proud of but a vice all the same.  “Must be funny all the same, tell both him and Narcissa I said hello.” Although. he was sure Lucius wouldn’t be too appreciative of his greeting. “Along with the weans as well.” Peter was fond of Narcissa, not so much of her husband.  “How have you been keeping anyway? Has it been fun outsmarting the finest minds that the department of magical law enforcement have??” 

[ratboipeter]

unbrken·:

They were standing so close yet Mary felt like a million miles away from Peter. It was a dangerous game to be this close to him and be as vulnerable as she was, like they were the only two people left in the world. Even through blurry vision from the tears falling down her face, Mary’s eyes remained focused on him. Unwavering. A hand lifted to wipe her tears, the cold wind stinging her face; cheeks flush. Part of her wanted to tear her vision away from him and walk away from the mess that they had created, but the memories of their love rooted her to the ground. Was anything ever going to be salvageable? But she didn’t want him to disappear again. Didn’t want him to show up in another year out of the blue with no answers as to why.

At his honest confession of never having read the letters she had sent him was when Mary averted her gaze, trying to hold back more tears. His words stung her and she hated it, silently chastising herself for pouring her heart out on tear stained parchment, for having the nerve to send it off, only for Peter to not have read them. Silently wishing the ground would swallow her whole, fingers nervously picking at her already worn-out cuticles, her mind raced with a million thoughts as Peter kept talking. Her heart stopped and her eyes darted upwards as her name fell from his lips. So familiar, his tone, but different. Mary shook her head, a tear slipping down her frozen cheeks, welcoming the sting that came with it. it was nothing to how she was feeling inside. Protests bubbled inside of Mary but swallowing them, she shook her head again, trying to ignore how little distance there was between them. “ I could have tried. ” Mary muttered more to herself, rather stubbornly. Helplessness was not a feeling she’d ever get used to, nor was it a feeling she’d ever felt towards Peter before. He was the one person she had been sure of, that she’d put all her cards on without a second thought. But where did that leave her? An apartment full of sad memories and the sad hopefulness that she clung onto that this was all a bad dream.

She’d never heard his voice sound so dark and acidic and if Peter had been a stranger in front of her, perhaps she would have sent him a death glare and spit vicious words in retaliation. But looking at the man she thought she knew in front of her, she wasn’t scared. “ You have a funny way of showing it, Peter. What else am I supposed to think? ” she threw her hands up in exasperation, but as he continued speaking with tears starting to fall, Mary’s heart ache as she watched the broken boy in front of her. It was selfish of her to want to console him, after everything he had done, but she wanted to anyway. “ Would - ” it was a question Mary had thought about a few days after news broke out that her boyfriend was a traitor, but never dared ask. She didn’t know if she could handle the answer. “ Would it have been different if I joined the Order? ” her voice was quiet, fragile, as if she didn’t really want to know.

“ I don’t - you’re the one person who understood. Everything. We had plans Peter, ” her eyes traced the frame of his body, all the way down to his hand hidden in his coat pocket, before flickering back to his. It was childish of her to think that this was an unwanted nightmare. “ I can’t just forget years of our relationship. That’s not how it works; it’s not that easy for me. ”

`She didn’t want to be drowning in sadness, in repressed feelings that she’d shoved deep down for a later day, but her heart lurched further as Peter’s words continued to break her down. I love you, so much. “ I’m sorry, ”  she was at a loss of words. her words were sincere - it wasn’t as black and white as Mary had originally thought, just knowing that eventually she’d lay in her bed, dissecting every part of their conversation until it started to make sense.

Without thinking, Mary reached out to touch his arm, her eyebrows knitting together in worry, eyes searching his. For what? she wasn’t sure. “ I’m trying to understand, okay? I’m trying. It’s hard when I’ve been left in the dark. ” she tried not to be bitter, but it was hard not to. “ Do - do you want some… tea? ” She gestured upwards to her apartment, shrugging lightly, not wanting to scare him off.

Every-time his eyes shut , Peter could recount it all. The warmth of Mary’s touch, the lightness of her laughter.  It felt easy to sink back into those days. Days that they spent with nobody but each other.  But reality hit hard, the blow to the face.  A reminder of such unlimited happiness made him feel queasy. How perfect it had all been before Peter burnt it all to the ground. His eyes fell to the floor as Mary wiped away her tears. Feeling his own brim to the surface.  He shouldn’t have come.  He should have stayed away.  All the time that Peter had longed to see Mary again seemed fickle.  Peter had been a fool to believe it would be a nice feeling. Instead, his feet were planted to the ground.  Feeling no more than a shell of who Mary once loved.  A failure by every right. 

Peter could still recall the first time one of Mary’s letters came through his window. It was one of the first and one of the rare few that fluttered into his abode.  Still, he was able to recall all the emotions that came with the arrival of those letters. Recounting the steps he took around his living room, pacing as a method to distract himself from tearing the letters open and hear her voice.  To hold onto the life raft of her words, although heartbroken, a reassurance that Mary still cared. Or perhaps it was the fear that held him back from opening them. The dread that perhaps the words were filled with venom. Cutting him down to his rightful size,  with pent-up anger for how he disappeared. So instead, he allowed them to collect dust.  Another display of his cowardice, not even having the bravery to face Mary’s anger.  Anger that was justified, and deserved.  Anger was something that Peter could understand. But as Mary stood close by him, with whispered mumbles of what Mary could have done.  That- that was heartbreaking. In fact it was more crushing than any tear-stained page could have managed.  Feeling wetness on his cheeks, Peter realised his attempts to hold back his emotions had been scare. “You did try- this wasn’t your issue.” 

“I’m just as bad as him-worse even-” Words stinging even to saw in front of her. She was right, what else was she supposed to think? Mary had been through a lot.  She had put her trust in him, trust that Peter had promised not to break with a caress of her cheek on a cold winter’s evening. Only for him to snatch back any promises, leaving behind the memories of their life together in Mary’s apartment.  Trying to convince himself that it was easier this way. A clean break, knowing that he could never lay alongside Mary with the knowledge of what he had done.  It would have killed him for Mary to see the mark that crept up his arm, even now Peter was doing his best efforts to hide the hand with a missing finger. It felt so ridiculous, to still be trying to mask his true identity. Especially when his true self was in such plain view.  A lump in his throat, “Mary...” A soothing tone, despite the lump in his throat. Although Peter doubted it gave her much relief. “Nothing would have changed it-Nothing can change it.” 

“I’m sorry...” Peter repeated, feeling more pathetic as their conversation continued. Her mention of their plans felt like a cluster migraine. A searing pain that spread right from his chest right up to his head.  How he longed for their plans.  How he longed for a future.  How quickly that had all gone to shit.  Pinching the bridge of his nose,  Peter tilted his head up.  “Please-Mary-do not apologise to me.

Peter’s voice was pleading, pathetic, almost sobbing. “Just-do your best...you can forget it. You can have better...You always could. Mary, you deserve better.

It was that realisation that hit him fast.  And as Mary kindly offered him a tea, Peter knew he was a monster. But in this moment, he felt it.  Showing up at Mary’s apartment, with no clear intentions or apology.  But instead riddled with thoughts of his own self pity.  It wasn’t fair to her.  Mary was better than him in every sense of the word. After what he had done- to still offer him a place in an apartment.  A part of him wanted to enter, to step over that threshold that he had once carried her through after a party at their friends’ houses.  A place filled with memories. To him- it was untouched. A sanctuary of what could have been. A golden palace of the bones of a relationship Peter once called home.  

His voice softened, his hands fidgeting in front of him. Resisting the urge to reach out, to open that door.  “No-No I couldn’t but thank you...”  Finally his voice no longer shaking. However- the tears remained. “I shouldn’t have come...I’m sorry..”  Pushing both of his hands in his pockets. “I’ll see you later.” Peter muttered before apparating away. ‘See you later,’ an empty hope.  For them - later had already been and gone. 

[ratboipeter]

where : underground fighting club

who : @remxslxpin

it had been a surprise to receive an owl from his old best friend, Remus. Following their spat in the underground club a few weeks back. Peter expected to be avoiding Remus’ glare as they both went about their training.  As much as Peter tried to remain unfazed by the knowledge that the other man was dealing with some shady characters in hopes of a few quid, it didn’t quite slip his mind.  Remus shouldn’t be exploited in that way, and not by those sorts of characters. But Peter left that afternoon knowing that he couldn’t interject anymore. It wasn’t his business,  he had lost that right the very day that he spoke to Voldemort. 

So as he made his way into the underground club, Peter was surprised that Remus had took him up on the offer of boxing training.  However,  Peter knew Remus’ need for money, he also had his moments.  Sitting on a stool in the corner of the ring, Peter wrapped his hands, the bandages on his left arm going up to his forearm. A fickle act, Remus’ knew exactly who he was. His old friend wouldn’t be fooled. Seeing Remus enter into the ring, Peter tossed a set of gloves at him.

There was no point for general chit-chat, Remus had made his hatred clear the last time. “Right, what do you know?” 

[ratboipeter]

lilyebba·:

@ratboipeter·

For as long as she could remember, Lily had been someone who loved with her whole heart. She held nothing back from the people she cared about, keeping nothing for herself if she thought there was someone who needed it more. Even strangers could bask in the glow of Lily’s compassion; she’d never seen lack of familiarity as a reason to not extend a helping hand. But the world was all about balance, and for every action there was an equal and opposite reaction. The depth of Lily’s well of empathy was the strength of her capacity for resentment. “My good opinion once lost, is lost forever.” Lily’s father used to use the Jane Austen quote to warn her against her temper, but it was one lesson she’d never quite learned. It was rare for Lily to burn bridges, usually preferring to hold out hope, but once she did there was no going back.

“You always could have relied on me. Always. It’s not my fault if you didn’t believe it.” Lily’s voice was a hissing mixture of regret and damnation. She wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince more, herself or Peter. Did he really think she hadn’t been there for him? That he couldn’t have come to her for anything? But no, even if he had it wasn’t her fault; Peter was the outlier, he was in the wrong. All of Lily’s friends knew she could be counted on. She was one of Marlene’s last remaining constants, Remus sometimes leaned on her even when he refused to turn to anyone else, Mary had still trusted her after Mulciber’s attack. Lily was a good friend, the best, and if Peter couldn’t see that, it wasn’t her problem.

“You were never alone.” Lily snapped. “Don’t make up half-assed excuses trying to blame us for your own choices.” Lily nearly growled when he almost mentioned Mary. Peter didn’t deserve to say her name, he didn’t even deserve to think about her. How he could turn traitor after dating Mary, after claiming to love her, Lily would never understand. “Yeah, I can tell you’re dealing with it really well.” She rolled her eyes and sneered, then stuck out her chin, eyes narrowed. “I’d be happy to go on my merry little way. Just promise you’ll never so much as breathe the same air as Harry ever again and I’ll relieve you of the pain of being in the presence of a dirty little mudblood like myself.” Lily still hated that word, probably always would, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t throw it in Peter’s face. After all, he probably heard it bandied about all the time with his new and improved blood purist friends.

He was bored, bored of the condemnation. In his younger years, Peter would have looked at Lily with adoration and friendship. His current gaze did not emote that same expression. Instead, it was dismissive. Did Lily Potter ever get tired of being so self-righteous? It was sickening.  Hearing her natter on about how she was set to be relied on, just sounded like a bragging session rather than an affirmation.  Peter was bitter, did he just not happen to fit Lily’s perfect fix-a-friend mould? A fool-proof model of Lily moddy-coddling until her friends became a shiny figure of nobility.  Glancing at the woman in-front of him, Peter wasn’t too sure if it was the anger of betrayal or the anger of not having another redeemed friend to place on her trophy case. 

“Huh,” Peter scoffed, “I forgot, Dumbledore’s merry clan of martyrs never do no wrong.”  His nostrils flared with annoyance.  Peter Pettigrew had been laced with regret from the moment, the words of betrayal had fell from his lips.  Regret over what he had done to Lily and James, and for a while. Peter seemed set on distancing himself from the couple, there were never going to be kind words or apologises exchanged.   But the very act of storming into his workplace had infuriated him. Lily’s scolding tone no longer had an impact on his life. Lily wasn’t his mother.  She didn’t have the right to tally up the failures of his life path.  Peter Pettigrew was done with this conversation,  his blood was boiling and he felt his palms begin to itch.  “I hadn’t been dealing with anything fucking well since Dumbledore forced a bunch of kids to do his dirty work. I wasn’t dealing with it fucking well while you lot were sitting beside me, at  the Leaky Cauldron, at order meetings, at your fucking wedding. ” His voice venomous, fist banging down on the bar in front. Relieved it was a somewhat empty bar filled with nothing but old men.  “Surprisingly enough, this wasn’t my aspiration. I had plans.  Plans that currently sit in a fucking ring-box in my bedside cabinet.” The admission, an unspoken one. The only other person who knew was Remus, his friend who had helped him pick the ring.  “But I fucking suffered because what that man sent me to do- I did what Mulci-” His voice cracking, “I did what Mulciber did to Mary to some innocent bloke to prove my loyalty.  Just to pass on some fucking information to that old fucker.” 

Pushing back the lump that began to settle in his throat, clearing his voice. “I had morals. But-how was I supposed to walk back and tell Mary that I loved her after doing that- ask her to be my wife.  Or go back to acting like a hero drinking in the pub with you lot  while some man lay in St Mary’s Hospital London, whimpering in fear over what I done to him?”  Words flowing like a tap that couldn’t get shut.  A release that had been pent up for what seemed like years.  “I apologise for what I done- but it was easier to succumb to it all- so why don’t you pop off and do that- and see how easy it is to return to your life filled with glory and pride over what you accomplished.” 

[ratboipeter]

where : malfoy manor

who: @narcxssamalfoy​

His hands fiddled with the embellished handle on the dark wood chest of drawers that sat in the middle of the Malfoy’s drawing room. Resting his crystal goblet of whiskey on the surface, hoping it left a ring that would irritate Lucius.  That was the irony of sitting in Malfoy Manor, his eyes glancing across the surround that probably cost more than his flat alone. Hell, forget his flat. Their manor probably cost more than his childhood home and his father’s pub combined. A sickening thought, the difference in upbringings and social standing.  With the recent news of a wealth tax, Peter couldn’t help the slight quirk of a smirk.  Although Peter would never express it, there was undoubtedly a part him who was satisfied. Slap it up the fuckers, he couldn’t help but think. 

Peter’s eyes raising from the goblet as Narcissa entered, “If you require any jewellery taken off your hands to avoid the tax, I happen to know the perfect place.” A smirk on his features. “I’ll polish it nightly, I promise.” 

[ratboipeter]

not-sirius·:

Regulus could have let Peter be. He probably should have come to think of it, but there was something about the other male that held his attention. Knowing he bothered him that made it near impossible to simply walk by him. 

“Didn’t even need to say anything to earn that,” Regulus scoffed. “And I only ratted out the rat because friends aren’t supposed to do that to each other.” He paused to wrinkle his nose. Tension with Sirius or not, the idea of putting the Potters at risk wasn’t something he could easily ignore. “At least I though so,” He took a moment to look at the book Peter had on him, not one for easily dismissing folding the page of a book as a way of keeping track of where someone left off. “Haven’t you heard of a bookmark?”

Peter Pettigrew longed for the day that he didn’t need to glance in Regulus’ direction. What a fine day that would be, perhaps without the looming presence of the man. Peter may be able to crack a smile every once in a while. 

“Friends,” Peter scoffed, “What would you know about friends? Have you ever had a friend that hasn’t just been hanging around because of your family name? ” Maybe that was why Regulus found himself lingering around Peter, had the Marauders pushed Regulus’ just as they had with Peter.  Had the novelty wore off? “Convenient time to develop a moral conscience.” Peter waved him off, glancing down at his book. “Haven’t you heard of not disturbing someone?” 

[sadsongsandwaltzes]

And I need you more than want you

And I want you for all time

And the Wichita lineman

Is still on the line

[ratboipeter]

heartlessbella·:

When she had talked with Narcissa about the plan regarding their wands, Bella had been expecting the worse to happen. Not that she didn’t trust her sister and her abilities but so many things had been going wrong with the family, she wanted to be prepared if she found she’d never have the chance to use her own wand again. Of course the short success of receiving the walnut wand she had been matched with at such a young age had been followed by the announcement of the searches to all residences familiar to her. She was rather put out that she had to vacant the room she had claimed at Malfoy Manor to hop around other residences to avoid recapture but at least she had a wand now.

The warrants and searchs had been the reason she found herself lurking in the shadows of Knockturn Alley, there was only so much hiding she could do after moving from one place to the next. And she had a lot of trust that many of the visitors to the alley would know better than to hand a witch like herself in, especially as Bella had taken to flashing wand when she received those questionable looks. Bellatrix Lestrange was frightening sight, even as an Azkaban escapee, but Bellatrix Lestrange with a wand still held a lot of fear it seemed. Though when she heard a familiar voice breaking through the usual hustle and bustle, she was still on guard. Ensuring her wand was still hidden right up her sleeve, the brunette turned to face Peter. “Can’t say it’s always common thing,” She mused, “But I’ve found that people still fear me more than they fear the Ministry. Besides those Aurors are busy crawling all over my familys’ manors, I’d be gone long before they arrived if they heard I had taken a bit of a field trip.”

Although Peter hadn’t been in Azkaban, the past two years had certainly hadn’t felt like freedom.  He hadn’t experienced freedom for a while.  Freedom was associated with Hogwarts, his head resting on the blades of grass on Saturday in May 1976.  Rolling himself and Remus two cigarettes talking about whatever they wanted from hogsmeade, to movies and the rolling stones.  Given the choice, he would go back in a heartbeat. It was those times he tried to not think about anymore. The times filled with such laughter and light that it almost suffocated him with misery as Peter sat in his flat filled with damp and empty bottles. His current predicament felt like prison. Unlike Bellatrix, it was unlikely that Peter Pettigrew would escape. A situation that his shaken hands carved for himself.  Peter leaned against one of the walls of Knockturn Alley.  “I don’t blame them,” Peter acknowledged, making it duly noted his own views on the woman in front of him.  Bellatrix was intense, and perhaps when Peter was on his crusade of nobility, he would have challenged her.  Now? He doubted it.  “Family Manors? Eh?” Quirking his eyebrow. “Don’t picture Lucius is too pleased about that. Must be a bit near the knuckle for the aurors to be digging through his boxer drawer.” Peter scoffed, a hint of mischief in his voice. 

[oldschoolteenflicks]

St. Elmo’s Fire (1985) dir. by Joel Schumacher

[ratboipeter]

lilyebba·:·

Lily knew the war had been hard on everyone, but at the same time, the war had been hard on everyone. Sirius hadn’t run back to the safety of his family name. Marlene hadn’t bowed to Nathair’s paranoia and anxiety. James still married her, and Alice and Frank still started a family. Lily herself had still gone out everyday with the memory of what Mulciber did to Mary hanging over her head like an executioner’s blade. She’d carried the knowledge that the same or worse was waiting for her if she took a wrong step, but she’d still moved. She’d still fought. She hadn’t let the fear turn her into a coward, and she couldn’t sympathize with the fact that Peter had turned tail and run to the side that seemed the strongest.

Lily watched as Peter turned away, picking up a glass and going about his job. It was a clear dismissal of ever she’d seen one, but she didn’t care. In fact it only made her dig in her heels; she would not be ignored. When Peter set the glass down, she resisted the urge to push it off the counter like a petulant cat. She wanted to scream and throw things but she was trying to make a point, not throw a tantrum. Instead she planted her feet and crossed her arms, chin jutting out like a challenge as she stared Peter down, silently daring him to meet her eyes.

“Of course, because it always comes back to James or Sirius or Remus for you, doesn’t it? Just because you don’t know who you are without someone else to define yourself with, don’t assume the rest of us are so weak. I was a friend to you, and I’m sorry if that wasn’t enough for you. I’m sorry if I didn’t always put you first while I was fighting a war and trying not to die, or when my mother was murdered and my sister tried to kick me out of her funeral. I’m sorry if it bothered you that I refused to put my life on hold.” Lily sneered, her tone making it clear she wasn’t sorry at all, even though she was. As hard as she tried to hate Peter, the traitor, she still felt guilty. She couldn’t put down the nagging sense that she’d missed something, that she should have seen Peter’s betrayal coming. She blamed herself for not doing a better job of making Peter, her friend, believe he was loved, because if she had, surely he wouldn’t have switched sides.

Lily scoffed. “Don’t insult my intelligence, that’s bullshit and we both know it. You’re standing here a sad, hollow, shadow of a person and it’s because you’re alone. And it’s what you deserve.” It was obvious to Lily that Peter was suffering. He looked terrible, and the petty part of her hoped it was because he felt guilty. After all, he’d abandoned them first, so he had only himself to blame for the state he was in.

Peter’s right hand shook a little as he tried to distract himself by cleaning the glass. It had always been a little weaker, with a tremor caused by nerve damage with what he had done. It reminded him, of how hasty it all had been. One minute,  Peter was sitting at that table under Dumbedore’s orders, feeling sick hearing their rhetoric.  And the next moment, his loyalty to those he once loved was gone.  With a swift move of his tongue and the swift movement of a knife to his hand.  Hasty, reckless, life-changing. All his decisions from that period were skewed. Blinded by his own misery and insecurity,  selected Death Eaters used this to their advantage.  Hissing about his weaknesses, and how his friends had moved on, like vipers in his ears. 

 That didn’t excuse it, he should’ve said no. Said no from the outset, to Dumbledore, to the death eaters, to Voldemort.  But Peter got greedy, for attention, for the power.  Now, on a come-down from the events. The fog has begun to lift, regret had began to set in.  Those who he had hurt, loved him. For whatever reason, Peter was unsure of.  However,  that was no longer a concern, that nail had been hammered into the coffin.  That Peter Pettigrew had already had been lowered down into his six-feet deep hole, never again to see the light of day.  What he had done was unforgivable, inexcusable.  It was easier now to carry on, live as the hollowed out shell of what he once was. A cowardly man seeking to return to his former glory.  But that was impossible,  and even Peter had to admit. Being an acknowledged fuck-up was a lot easier for him, there was no longer an impossible standard to reach.  Nobody respected him now, not even himself. 

“I know who I am.” Peter clarified.  His hand setting down the glass with force, frustrated with the tremor and the woman standing in front of him.  The woman who he once considered one of his closest friends.  But Peter wasn’t going to relent, not in front of a pub of people who he knew. “I’ve always known who I am.”  That wasn’t always true, Peter always  knew that he was likely to fuck-up.  But not quite to this degree.  “Don’t accuse me of asking anything from you lot, I learnt that I couldn’t rely on any of you a long time ago.” Peter acknowledged, meeting her eye. “You’ve had a hard life, I get it.” Frustration evident in his tone. “But take your woes to your fucking pillow like the rest of us.” 

“I know the consequences to my actions” Sad, hollow, shadow of a person, alone. Lily wasn’t wrong in what she was saying.  Peter Pettigrew was all of those things, and those were the consequences of his actions. "But, I've been alone for a while. Practically from the day we stepped out of that castle. If it wasn't for Ma-" Peter stopped himself, 'I'm well versed in it now. I learnt how to deal with it on my own. So why don't you just go your own merry way? It's you and your husband who keep crossing my path. I could happily never see you lot ever again."

[ratboipeter]

where : florean fortescues ice-cream parlour

who : @not-sirius​

If it had of been a few-years ago.  Peter would have been having a coffee in the Leaky Cauldron.  Perhaps finishing a shift while waiting for one of his friends to pop by or Mary.  Things would have been content, he could have been happy.  But instead, here he was. Avoiding the crowds by sitting with a Florean Fortescue’s coffee.  With the assumption that, not many would be hitting the ice-cream parlour in the dead of mid-February.  Peter, who had once been a sociable and loud individual, now remained in the shadows. Seeking to avoid an awkward encounter, or the judgement of strangers. It was a lonely existence and sometimes Peter couldn’t help but wonder if it was all really worth it? 

He had been keeping his head down, reading his book.  When suddenly the shadow of another loomed over him.  Peter couldn’t help but sigh, one of his hands going to earmark the edge of the current page he was on.  His other hand remaining around his cup of coffee.  An almighty huff falling from his lips upon looking up and seeing Regulus Black. “Oi, fuck off mate.” It rolled off the tongue almost immediately, “Didn’t you rat on me to make yourself a few extra friends to bother?” 

[ratboipeter]

where:  knockturn alley

who : @heartlessbella​

Peter had gotten used to a majority of his time either being spent at work or at home.  As a condemned man in society, there weren’t many willing to engage in small-talk.  Regulars who he once conversed with,  tended to avoid his gaze as they passed by him in the street.  Although, it was a relief. It was one less person to explain himself too, or to criticise him. That was all he was used to these days.  Even within the ranks of the Death Eaters, there were those who looked down on him. A half-blood Gryffindor, a traitor.  Choosing to ignore the fact that Peter had ruined his life for the cause.  He had earned the mark on his arm, others were just born into it. 

Walking along Knockturn Alley, Peter was surprised when he caught the glimpse of Bellatrix Lestrange, just about to cross his path. A little risky for being on the most wanted list? Especially being a woman of her status.  Halting in his tracks, Peter called out to the woman.  “Surprised to see you out and about.” His tone, slightly jovial. “Didn’t realise Azkaban authorised day-releases.” 

[ratboipeter]

unbrken·:

Maybe Mary’s first mistake had been deciding to put her love and trust into Peter at such a young age when it should have been herself     but she hardly recalled anyone at fifteen years old being able to love themselves so freely with no restrictions, and Merlin, Mary had trusted him as much as she trusted Lily and Marlene; with her life. Peter was hers just as much as she was his; her Peter who held her while nightmares gripped at every crevice of her mind, who rocked and held her, kissing her forehead and murmuring soothing words to calm her down - surely that wasn’t the same Peter that had lied and deflected her letters, betrayed her trust by turning into the very man from years ago that almost ruined her life. Almost.

Mary flicked the butt of her cigarette to the ground. He had promised her and their relationship so many things, only for it to all disappear as fast as he did. She didn’t know what to think of that. One morning he was Peter Pettigrew, her boyfriend. Then in a blink of an eye, he became Peter Pettigrew, the traitor. You done everything. You were my everything. Part of her wanted to turn back around and go back inside her apartment building; back up the rickety stairs and into the comfort of her own bed with her cat laying next to her, while the other part of her wanted to slap Peter across the face, wanting him to feel the anger that radiated within her. To make him feel as hurt as she felt.

She did neither, except for taking another step towards him.

“ Did you think about this moment when you ignored all my owls that I sent? The ones where I begged you to tell me what was going on, where I pleaded with you to let me in? Did you even read them? ” Her voice cracked as she struggled with her emotions that were trying to claw their way out of her throat, trying to hold them back. A tear slipped out. Then another. Fuck. Her resolve was crumbling before Peter’s eyes and there was nothing Mary could do about it. Vulnerability was not a state Mary let herself get into, ever, but it was too easy with Peter; he knew her inside and out, even after all these months. He still knew her secrets and what made her tick. Standing in front of him, tears streaming down her face silently as Peter stood there pleading with her. “ Why didn’t you let me in? Why couldn’t you just. Let. Me. In. I could have helped      I could have      ” At the mere mention of Dumbledore, a breath sucked in and she stopped talking.

Mary wanted the ground to swallow her whole. Dumbledore somehow always had a way to ruin her fucking life without even realising it; without caution. Or maybe he did and he just didn’t care. It was a well-kept secret that Mary abhorred Dumbledore almost as much as she did Mulciber      what the hell would that have said about her, hating the goddamn savior of the Wiazarding world? “ Did he tell you to go in there and sell out my best friend’s kid? Did he tell you to go there and blow up your own life? Did he tell you to be Mulciber’s new best friend? ” That was a reach.

Furiously wiping away her tears, chiding herself for letting her be so weak in front of him.

But. 

Mary Macdonald didn’t want him to leave. It was selfish of her. Peter was telling her to move on, and here she was, willing him to stay. Just five more minutes.

“ I fucking love you, you asshole. You’re the only one I’ve ever loved. But you’re right, I do deserve better. I just wanted you to be better for me. ”

In his conscience moments. Peter opted to try to avoid any memory of Mary.  They were always to painful to bare,  there were too many that reminded him of his ill-footing. Small details of how the plans that they had laid together were dormant. How the ring in the corner of his beside cabinet collected dust.  His former self had been too hard on himself, he was redeemable.  He was good.  Peter had let his life go for nothing more than a flicker of insecurity.  Convincing himself that he wasn’t good enough until eventually he wasn’t.  The bags under his eyes were due to a lack of sleep,  a lack of sleep due to Mary.  His memories were not forgiving, reminding him, taunting him of her smiles, her laugh, her whispers of love.  Soft whispers that once soothed him asleep now taunted his every moment.  Always following him, looming over his shoulder like an unwanted companion. 

His eyes followed the ash fluttering to the ground, before returning to their previous position. Fixating on Mary, doe-eyed like an in-love school boy.  He missed her, it felt like an obvious statement.  However, it had only truly hit Peter the moment Mary looked him in the eye.  A pining feeling in his gut.  Peter wanted to reduce himself to his knees and nuzzle his head into the edge of her winter coat, begging. Begging for forgiveness. But there was no excuse for his actions, there was no running. His injured hand flexed as Mary stepped closer, placing it in the pocket of his coat.  More evidence of the pathetic man he had become. 

“I didn’t-” Honesty, shaking his head the words fell, “I couldn’t.”  They still remained, unopened  buried in a box in his wardrobe. As Mary’s voice cracked,  he longed to close the gap in between them. Take one step further and envelope her in a hug.  To feel home.  His home had never been the two-up-two-down in Chudley, or the red-clad walls of the Gryffindor Room. It was certainly not the dark room that he was renting in London. It had, and always would be, Mary MacDonald.  To stroke the crown of her hair, to kiss her temple and tell Mary that he was sorry.  Perhaps if it had of been a minor incident, like an intense argument, it could have been resolved with that.  But Peter had uprooted their lives without a shadow of consideration.  “Mary-” Her name coming out in a breath, the tears he had been pushing back fighting their way to the surface.  “You-you couldn’t have? Don’t you realise that?” 

“I wouldn’t. I would never be Mulciber’s best friend. I want to fucking kill the fella.” His voice filled with venom, how it often sounded nowadays.  Tears streaming now, how pathetic was he. Peter had already said too much- his loose lips threatened to reveal everything. To tell her, what he had done to the shop-keeper.  How even though Peter condemned Mulciber, the same actions had been repeated to an innocent man, cast from his own wand. The words falling from his own lips.  “The rest I did, myself.”   Hands falling to rub at his own face, “I was always capable of it- blowing up my life... I just-just wish I hadn’t” 

His hands itched, wanting to reach out. But Peter couldn’t set the explosion himself and then walk in and lie in the wreck. This was all his fault--

I fucking love you, 

His breath hitched, the words he had longed to hear for years.  But while they once made his heart swell. On this instance, they broke it.  “Why?” Peter confused, his voice coming out more like a pathetic plea. 

“I love you- so much.  Love wasn’t the reason I left..”  He tried to explain, but it all sounded disjointed. Pathetic. “I left because - I was already too far in...I got stuck.  The things that I had already seen in those first months ....the things that I’ve done Mary...” His voice cracking, coming out more like a strangled sob.  “You wouldn’t have loved me- once you found out...You couldn’t have” 

@unbrken·

[ratboipeter]

remxslxpin·:

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Peter was right. In the short time Remus had known Travers, he’d been pulled deeper and deeper into this life — always promised money and security in return. Always promised that next time maybe he’d be the winner. And for as long as a fight would last, Remus could take it. He could take the pain, blood, and shouting from the crowd (”Kill the fucking werewolf!”). But once the lights were down and the gamblers left, once he was back in his little bed in his tiny flat, he was just a loser. That’s all he’d been and all he would be. 

Maybe that’s why he was here again. Every loss hurt, but it made the next one a little easier. The pain started to feel like comfort. The booing felt like cheers. He didn’t know how to explain that to Peter. It was something he was ashamed of and he couldn’t trust the man in front of him with those insecurities anymore. He couldn’t trust anyone. Wasn’t adulthood just learning that everyone has an ulterior motive?

“Do you think I don’t know that?” He said, disgust sharp in his voice. “Clearly I’m not here looking for a part time job scooping ice cream.“ He shook his head. "Have you considered that this is how I survive?”

His eyes flickered,  debating walking away from the man in front of him.  Remus no longer owed Peter an explanation, and the man didn’t know why he really gave a shit. Maybe it was the glimmer of guilt,  Peter had always had a stronger bond with Remus over the years they spent together.  Besides, Remus seemed to be the only one concerned enough to spend time with him in his last few honourable months. Or perhaps, he felt a certain obligation to not see his old friend beaten to a pulp then experience the financial hand being taken out of him. 

“Surviving is debatable...” He drawled, his own two boxing gloves hanging from his left hand. “You’d probably make more money scooping ice-cream. At least once your odds go down and people lose interest, soon you’ll get getting the shit beat out of you for a cat’s lick and a promise.” 

@remxslxpin·

[ratboipeter]

lilyebba​:

​When they were young, really just starting out their Hogwarts careers, Lily had made up a story in her head about Peter Pettigrew, based solely on observation, and the assumptions she made about his friends. In Lily’s mind Peter had been a scared little boy, clinging to the biggest bullies he could find in the hopes that he could avoid becoming their target by being their sycophant. Of course, in this story those bullies had been James, her future husband, and Sirius, who’d grow into the man she’d trust to be her son’s godfather in the middle of a war that wanted her dead. When she’d realized she’d been wrong about James and Sirius, she’d assumed she’d been wrong about Peter, too.

It had taken years for Lily to put aside her preconceived notions, and her pride, and admit that the marauders were not who she thought they were. Once she did that, she’d formed a mental image of Peter as a charming and funny young man, if in a quieter way than some of the others. After that she always made a point of building up Peter, encouraging his better angels and discouraging his worse impulses, just as she did all of her boys. She’d even supported his relationship with Mary. Mary who, more than any of Lily’s friends, deserved only good things.

Oh, how Lily’s heart had broken when she realized her first estimation of Peter had been the true one. But even that, she might have been able to forgive. After all, she knew everyone made mistakes. She knew you could love someone without loving the choices they made. Lily still loved Petunia, despite everything that had gone wrong between the sisters, but Petunia’s choices had only ever hurt Lily. Peter’s choices had threatened Harry.

Not only that, but Peter had known his choices threatened Harry, and that Lily could never forgive.

That Lily would never forgive. 

So when Peter sneered at her Lily was not cowed. When he leaned against the bar and showed her the Dark Mark on his arm she did not flinch. Lily had spent the past several months hardening her heart to this man, with every ounce of stubbornness, and pettiness, that she contained on her side, and his casual arrogance had no effect on it. Instead she leaned, pushing up on her toes and bracing herself against the bar, getting as close to in his space, and in his face, as she could.

“But Voldemort did. That was all you could bring to the table, wasn’t it? All your Dark Lord was interested in. It was never about you, only what you could give him. And you couldn’t even get that right.” Lily rocked back on her heels, still holding Peter’s gaze. This was the ugly side of Lily’s temper, the side she was most likely to regret later. Her anger would tip over into self-righteous indignation and name her judge, jury, and executioner. And she never hesitated to use someone’s weaknesses against them. Lily knew Peter had struggled after they graduated, that he’d felt left out and left behind. At the time, it had been a reason to go out of her way to make sure he felt included, and valued. Now it was just another weapon in her arsenal. 

“Don’t forget who won the war. You signed your own death warrant, trying to choose the strongest side instead of the right one. So you can have the shadows. You can have the back alleys and the gutters. But don’t for one second think you deserve to stand in the sun with the rest of us. And I don’t care if it means you never set foot outside Knockturn Alley again, you make sure you stay away from my son. For your own sake.”

Peter had always noticed the casting glances. Those who didn’t quite size him up to be akin to his friends, those who viewed him as a boy who just fawned at the other Marauder’s feet. That assumption had never been true, He had always been his own person in his own right. Perhaps it was because he didn’t come with his own golden halo quite like James or from a well-established family like Sirius. Perhaps in that aspect, he faded into the other boy’s shadow. But not without a fight, always large in laughter and jest, his cheeky comments radiating through the corridors that he walked. A wink at McGonagall and a fist thrown at Slytherins. He had never been quiet or a kiss-ass waiting to bask in the Marauder’s glory. Those who saw him as inferior just happened to have that preconception. 

 At Hogwarts, Peter Pettigrew didn’t have an opinion on Lily Evans. Other than teasing James about drawing her heart dotted letters on his parchment. She had seemed dead on, with not much for Peter to begrudge against her. Barring the obvious friendship with Severus Snape, a questionable taste. Although, Peter could hardly judge with the current company which he had felt solace in. It was only once the man began to date Mary, that his friendship with Lily Evans began to flourish. Finding a similar humour and comfort with the woman as they spoke. If Peter’s life hadn’t of took a spin, perhaps Mary and Peter still would have partook in double dates with James and Lily.

 In their early years of friendship, Peter appreciated Lily’s dedication to Peter bettering himself. With conversations about the new and up-coming, Pettigrew’s Pub. One of Peter’s charming ventures before the mirror cracked and the darkness came flooding out beneath the shards. A kindred ship that Peter appreciated, until he didn’t. In the last three years of his friendship with the Marauders, from the group of friends joined the Order. It became overbearing. Who were these people advising him to do more with his life? The same ones who barely had the consideration to ask him how he was coping after Hogwarts? The same ones who witnessed him withdraw without a bat of an eye-lid? Taking his fake laughter as a reassuring gesture that he was ok? These people had no right to tell him what to do, or how to live. Not whenever they could barely direct an OWL in his direction.

Lily Potter could come in here acting high and mighty, Peter Pettigrew truly couldn’t give a shit. 

 His eyes unflickering, unbothered. Peter retreated his arm from the bar. Clearly that wasn’t going to get her to fuck off. Perhaps he should get it all over with, set up a stall in Hogsmeade for his ex-friends to come and berate him. It would be easier to get the tedious interactions over with. Of course, Peter found it ironic. He knew his betrayal was severe, catastrophic and if the man could take it back, he would. Not opting to give them the luxury of droning on about his own mistakes when they had been shitty friends.

 Flicking his tongue, he began to wipe at a glass behind the bar. What did Lily know about his situation? Had she sat through the evenings he sat alone in his dark flat? Dealing with what he had done to the shop-keeper? How he had tortured an innocent man? Just to prove some shoddy loyalty to a group that Dumbledore had forced him to infiltrate when Peter already felt beyond redemption. Just like Mulciber had tortured Mary Macdonald, the love of his life, a few years prior. Lily had never been thrown into the vipers pit and told to resist being eaten.

“Perhaps, if you had actually been my friend, I would value your opinion more.” His voice cold, setting the glass down on the counter. A lie, but he didn’t care. Peter just wanted Lily Potter to leave. He had enough regrets about his actions. “All you were was my best friend’s wife. James Potter was my friend, I betrayed him. I couldn’t give a fuck about what you think of me.” 

 “Trust me, I’ve been up in the sunshine with you all. And it wasn’t that fucking great.” Peter acknowledged with a roll of his eyes. They were all good on reflecting on Peter’s flaws, if not a bit ignorant of their own.

[ratboipeter]

narcxssamalfoy·:

Narcissa easily got lost in her work at times. The canvas provided a comfort, allowing peace to flow in her veins. Peace wasn’t easy to come by these days. Animosity filled the air, woven through the halls of their home. It wasn’t an environment that was suitable for her children, but Narcissa didn’t have much of a choice at this point. Realizing the time, Narcissa quickly removed herself from her current activity – an interpretation of a scene from a book she’d been reading – and took a moment to straighten out her dress, ensuring she was presentable. She observed the fact that Lucius’ office door was still closed. 

A polite smile flitted onto her face at the sight of Peter, glad to see he was already in the foyer. “Of course,” she replied. “I apologize for not immediately greeting you. I was tied up with a few things.” She clasped her hands together. “He’s still in with the one before you so unfortunately you will need to wait. In the mean time, why don’t you join me in the drawing room? A glass of wine sounds perfect, but naturally, you can have whichever beverage you’d prefer.“ Narcissa snapped her fingers to get the house-elf’s attention, her voice rigid as she gave instructions to fetch the drinks, including a plate of bonbons as she possessed a bit of a sweet tooth. "Come along,” she told Peter, their destination not far. The two sat in the chairs in front of the roaring fireplace, Narcissa grateful for the constant warmth. “Now tell me how you’ve been, Peter. It’s been quite some time.” Her interest was genuine and not simply artificial pleasantries.

Peter had a fondness for Narcissa, it was an unlikely friendship. One that had become his most valuable since his demise from the Marauder’s hall of fame.  From his humble upbringing in Chudley, Peter wasn’t used to the lavish lifestyle that seemed to be indulged upon in Malfoy Manor. It was hard not to get lost in such an extravagant house.  “It’s alright, I know how these things can be.” Peter smiled, with Narcissa being the only one who truly received a genuine smile these days.  It was a bit of a relief that Lucius wasn’t quite ready, it would put him at ease to have a general knack with someone before being fed to the wolves.  Peter couldn’t picture whatever Lucius required him for to be pretty. “A firewhiskey would be nice,” He nodded, following Narcissa into the drawing room and sitting in one of the chairs opposite Narcissa. Despite the bags under his eyes, Peter smiled tightly. “Aye, things have been alright.” He shrugged,  “A bit quiet, considering everything.”  Thanking the house-elf quickly as the drinks and bonbons were delivered.  “How have you been? How are the kids?” Peter quite missed being an uncle.