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Peter woke to grey. He wasn’t expecting flowers, nor was he expecting a choir of angels and a personal message from God to welcome him to heaven, but he was still caught off-guard. It made sense, though. To send him to an eternity of grey instead of eternal damnation. Grey is ambiguous. Grey is the unknown. Grey is an eternity of reflecting upon his choices, which might just be worse than damnation.
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Peter was always seen as the extra member of their four-man team. James had the wit, Sirius the looks, and Remus the brain. What was the use of Peter?
Everything, actually.
It was true that the ideas for pranks mostly originated from James and Sirius, and the occasional Remus, but it was always Peter who put them into motion. Peter who encouraged them. Peter who made the pranks worse better. When James decided to rain feathers all over the dining hall, it was Peter who suggested blasting a cacophony of squawks and chirps from the inside of the very-dead chickens that lay on the dining tables.
He was always the support, always the back-up. And that’s why he was never caught.
The professors simply didn’t believe that he could’ve made all the brooms in school come alive and sing jingles. They didn’t believe that he was solely responsible for The Great Thanksgiving Disaster(rumours say that dead chickens still run amok the school grounds), and they definitely didn’t believe him when he admitted that he was the driving force behind at least 75% of their pranks.
James exploited this to no end, often putting him at the frontline to face Mcgonagall danger when they had just executed a prank that enraged the whole school. Peter didn’t complain- he rather enjoyed it. It was nice to see how many times he could get away with pranks due to his unimpressive reputation. The school caught on eventually, and they realised that perhaps Peter Pettigrew was hiding more than he let on behind his unassuming exterior.
They were right.
He wasn’t mysterious and he wasn’t particularly good-looking either. His grades were average, his love life as well. He had his share of lovers, of course, though that number can’t be compared to Sirius’s. Some might even say that he was perfectly average, and that’s why they all underestimate him. Even those he was closest to.
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His mother underestimated him when she told him he would never survive in Hogwarts.
His professors underestimated him when they chose to believe that his As were due to luck.
Sirius underestimated him when he lamented about his love life, saying that Peter would never know the feeling of true love.
Remus underestimated him when his gaze flitted over him while he was trying to find someone to duel.
James underestimated him when he made him his Secret Keeper.
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They were the best friends Peter ever had, even if they failed to truly understand him.
They were thick as the thieves they were, stealing happiness and laughter from the exasperation of others. They shared gossips, and turned to each other when they needed to rant, regardless of whether it was on the topic of the redundancy of homework, or their worry about the impending war. Peter treasured those moments, loved them even.
But it wasn’t enough.
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Peter loved making decisions. He loved the power he felt himself hold when choosing between choices, be it choosing what to eat for lunch or, you know, deciding whether or not to betray his very best friends.
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When Voldemort came to him, he had to choose. The One Who Must Not Be Named promised him recognition, and promised him a life of happiness, if he would just be their spy in the Order. Peter wasn’t a fool- he knew that true happiness would never belong to him. He was, however, lured by the temptation of recognition. All these years, all those transparent anonymity.
Perhaps they should all learn not to underestimate Peter Pettigrew.
So he chose.
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Peter stood up in the hazy afterworld, and looked around. Years have passed, and the Second Wizarding War started. Even if Peter died before it ended, he knew the ending.
Justice would prevail, as it always did. He knew it when he defected to Voldemort, he knew it when James died. He knew it even when Sirius fell through the Veil, knew it when he hesitated to strangle Harry.
He knew that he chose to die.
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There was nothing around him, no sign to show him where to go. Yet Peter knew anyway, so he chose to start walking. He wasn’t walking in any particular direction, but he continued walking anyway.
And as he walked, he continued to revisit his past.
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Peter knows happiness in the way adrenaline rushes through his body. He knows satisfaction in the way Sirius pats him on the back and compliments him on a job well done. He knows admiration in the way he feels about James He knows puppy love in the way he felt when he was 8 and his neighbour was 7. He knows contentment in the way he runs through the forest in Animagus form.
He knows jealousy when girls fawn over Sirius. He knows anger when they brush him off yet again. He knows pain when the war draws them apart. He knows paranoia when Remus looks at him for a little bit too long. He knows remorse when he watches green lights flash in Godric’s Hollow.
But he not let himself know regret.
He does not get to regret the consequences of his choices.
(Or so he tells himself.)
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In the afterworld, the path is seemingly endless. Plenty of time for him to reminisce.
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Peter was afraid, of course. He was afraid that they would find out before they were supposed to, and expose him as the traitor that he is.
The First War was filled with constant paranoia, and was filled with cries and pain and blood and death.
It should come as no surprise that Peter was afraid of death. Who wouldn’t be? Death is an unknown, and no one knows what comes after that. Would it be paradise? Reincarnation? Most of all, though, Peter was scared that when he died, he would be stuck in the same place as those he betrayed, so many years ago.
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At least there were no traces of them here.
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He doesn’t know how long he has been walking for-doesn’t really care either. His legs don’t tire, his breath is stable. After a while, though, Peter came to a crossroad.
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The path diverged into two, and each had a swirling mass at the end. There was no sign, but Peter knew what each path would lead him to.
One to nothingness…and the other to retribution.
He could hear Sirius’s laughter, could hear him catching up with James. He could hear Lily commenting on how they never change, could practically see Remus rolling his eyes as he recounted peculiar incidents from back when they were still young and free. He could feel the warmth he felt eons ago, when they were watching the stars and pondering about life and swearing that the Marauders would be forever.
Peter never allowed himself to regret, because he knew that he wouldn’t be able to function under the heavy burden of guilt.
He was still alive, even if he doesn’t feel that he is. He was still standing, even if there was no one else by his side.
But he lets himself regret, just this once, at the end of the road.
He doesn’t cry, because there’s nothing to cry for.
Instead, he imagines what it would be like if he hadn’t made that decision so many years ago. Would he be with them now? Would they still be the best of friends? He knew for sure that if he didn’t betray them, he wouldn’t be hesitating to go to them right now.
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Peter loved making decisions. He loved the power he felt himself hold when choosing between choices, be it choosing what to eat for lunch or, you know, deciding whether to choose nothingness or an eternity with his former best friends.
But that was a lie.
Peter hated making decisions, because they were what made his life(or lack thereof) so goddamn miserable. He hated how he always managed to choose the worse option, and in the end, it was always, always him that suffered the most.
He knew James and Lily would forgive him eventually, because that was just how they were. He knew Remus would too, and knew Sirius would cave in, because Peter would make it up to them, for as long as he needed to. He had eternity to do so, anyway.
But should he give them this choice?
Peter let out a delirious laugh. He was deciding whether or not to enter their second lives after he ruined their first. He stayed rooted at the spot for a while, laughing, because he wanted to be with them so bad. He wanted to laugh with them again, wanted to feel contentment bloom in his chest after years of emptiness.
But he didn’t deserve it.
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He stayed rooted at the spot for a while, listening to the conversation on the other side.
He fantasized about being with them, about James’s arm slung around his shoulders, about making jokes that made Remus’s eyes crinkle. He wondered if they knew he was sorry.
He wondered because he wouldn’t be able to tell them himself.
He stood there a while longer, then started walking.
He was walking away from his greatest desire, because he chose to, and he would not regret any longer.
This was the least he could do for them.
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From then on, Peter Pettigrew ceased to exist, whether in this realm or any other.
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“That was Peter, wasn’t it?"
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