If Rats Could Fly (Peter Pettigrew, 5th year)
January 17th, 1976
He was not afraid of Remus Lupin.
He wasn’t.
If he repeated it enough times, Peter hoped it would come true. But Moony’s shoulders were dislocating, the bones of his spine were splitting straight through his skin, and his eyes were bulging out of his head like two gigantic light bulbs, yellow and glowing and rolling and searching for prey—and suddenly the beast was standing before him, naked, hairy, and awful.
It’s horrible eyes locked onto Peter, the rat perched on the piano who watched with horror and not a whole lot else. He’d thought—no, hoped—that Remus would see him last, being the smallest of them, but the werewolf must’ve caught his scent right away.
And the werewolf approached him.
Peter screamed and it came out as a squeak. He couldn’t move, not even to check that Sirius and James were still on either side of him, though his little rat ears were keen enough to hear the dog’s panting and the stag’s clopping hooves over the low growl coming from the werewolf’s throat. Oh god. Oh GOD, his teeth are sharp.
What was it doing?! Surely it would’ve been more interested in Sirius, the next closest in species? Unless it’d locked onto the weakest of the bunch and planned to devour him whole, right there? Did wolves eat rats? Did werewolves eat rats? Remus said they only cared for humans—that was the point of this whole thing, wasn’t it?
And since his tiny, useless clawed feet wouldn’t do him any good frozen like this, Peter squeezed his beady eyes shut and waited for the inevitable. Let him be the sacrifice, fine. James and Sirius would run once Remus ate him, so it wouldn’t be a total loss. What a bunch of bullshit—
Hot air blew his whiskers back and he blinked his eyes open. The wolf’s snout was resting on top of the piano, taking deep and steady breaths of rat scent.
Smell delicious, do I?! Peter wanted to shriek.
But the werewolf didn’t move any closer. The yellow eyes stared, unblinking, close enough that Peter could see the subtle quiver of the pupils as they contracted and expanded. Satisfied with whatever scent he’d caught, the werewolf backed up and sat on his haunches, watching the three of them with his head cocked to the side.
As brave as any Gryffindor, Sirius the dog bounded forward with his tail wagging.
~ ~ ~
Time flew by and then it was morning. Too small to play, Peter had spent most of that time watching from a window sill. Now that the moon was falling in the sky, he’d poked his little face through a crack in the boards to get a good look at the sunrise that turned the horizon pink.
The werewolf had begun to tire out. Peter could just barely make out the resemblance between it and Remus when its lip curled up in an obvious wince, as if it sensed the de-transformation approaching. As the sun filtered through the boarded windows, it collapsed suddenly in the middle of the room, seeming to shrink before Peter’s eyes, until it was a pile of dirty, hairless limbs.
Both Sirius and James appeared in human form next to him. Sirius, looking a little horrified at the sight of Remus, threw a blanket over him and sat down. James spun in a circle while he shoved his glasses onto his face. He spotted the rat on the windowsill and said, “Pete? Got a watch?”
Peter transformed and checked the time. His voice sounded shaky and exhausted to his own ears. “Quarter to seven.”
“Fuck. Quidditch practice—”
“Let’s skip it,” Sirius said, rolling Remus gently onto his back.
“No, are you serious? We’ve got a game at the end of the week, Black, we can’t just—”
“Both of you go,” Peter announced, stepping forward. “I’ll stay behind with him.”
The boys faltered and looked up at him, which made Peter feel like a sack of shit. Was it such a surprise for him to offer to do something helpful?
“It’ll be easiest for me to hide once Pomfrey comes,” he explained, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Plus—plus, we wouldn’t want him to wake up alone, right? Especially after last night. You know Moony, he’ll probably assume he ate us.”
“Are you…sure?” Sirius asked. The twist in his eyebrows told Peter what question he wasn’t willing to voice: Are you sure you’re okay staying alone with him?
“Yes,” Peter said, striding over and shoving James towards the door. He kicked Sirius in the knee to coax him off the ground. “Remus keeps Pepper-Up in his trunk. You’ve got forty-five minutes to make yourselves look presentable before practice, so go.”
“Fine,” James said, glancing at Remus on the ground. “We’ll meet you in the hospital wing.”
“Sure.” He waved his hand insistently. “Go!”
They scampered out of the room, whipping out the invisibility cloak as they went.
The Shack went dead quiet after that. In their absence, Peter realized just how much noise James and Sirius made simply by existing. Now all he could hear were the gentle creaks of the house as it settled and Moony’s breathing, soft and rhythmic.
Peter watched him. He didn’t look dangerous now. Even a few hours ago, Peter found that he’d gotten used to the look of him as a werewolf, and gotten used to the fact that he wasn’t ready to spring on him at any given moment. But it was still daunting to think back on, especially knowing that as a werewolf, Remus would always be big enough to squash the rat-sized Peter between his jaws or under his clawed foot, even accidentally.
But Peter was struck with the sheer difference between the beast and this boy at his feet. What had he expected, then? A Remus-like werewolf? Remus had never given him any reason to fear him as a human, yet he’d spent the past few years much jumpier than necessary. Remus—this Remus was harmless.
Just as soon as Peter sat down, Remus' eyes snapped open. A flare of that brilliant wolf-eye yellow flickered across his retinas and disappeared, but Peter was not afraid of Remus Lupin.
“Good morning,” he said pleasantly.
Remus blinked heavily at him. He grunted, planting a hand on the floor and pushing himself to a sitting position. His arms were shaking enough that Peter decided he wouldn’t be able to hold it for long, so he crawled forward to steady him. “Alright?”
“F-fine. Where’s—”
“You didn’t eat them,” Peter said immediately.
Remus rolled his eyes, but Peter had already caught sight of the fear in his face before it faded.
“Quidditch practice,” he explained. “I told them to head out, but—Moony, it worked.”
“I assumed it worked, s-since all of you are still…breathing, I suppose.” Wincing, Remus repositioned himself so he was facing Peter. “Not hurt?”
“No, and neither are the other two.”
“Was it horrible?”
“I dunno, James and Sirius seemed like they were having a blast, from what I saw. You all played together.”
Remus furrowed his eyebrows at this. He didn’t seem to have the energy to ask any more questions, but Peter knew he’d want to know every detail later. The boy shuddered and wrapped the blanket tighter around his shoulders.
“Cold?”
“Feverish,” Remus mumbled, lowering his head to his knees. “Happens after every moon, I guess, even if I have fun.” He chuckled. “You think it would ruin their fun if they knew that?”
“No,” Peter said softly. “They’d want to know because they care about you. And just so you know—we stayed in the Shack the whole night. You didn’t try to hurt a single one of us. And…and also I should apologize to you.”
Remus groaned in pain as he rolled his shoulder. “W-why?”
“Because—because I thought you would try. I thought—I thought you were the werewolf.”
“I am,” Remus said, frowning.
“No, I thought you were the werewolf, but that thing was completely different from you. I reckon it has its own personality, even. But I’m apologizing because I thought you’d bite me if you ever had the chance.”
“I would bite you, Peter.”
“The wolf would. Not you. I think I…well, for a while I couldn't get it out of my head that maybe the wolf was just biding its time, waiting for its chance to get at us. It was a stupid thing to think. I was stupid."
"It's not stupid to be afraid of a werewolf."
"I'm not afraid of you," Peter said deliberately.
Remus studied the floorboards thoughtfully. After a while, his mouth pulled into a soft smile. “Alright. Thanks, Pete.”
Floorboards creaked somewhere below them. The bitter scent of hand sanitizer immediately entered Peter’s nostrils. His senses had been wildly strong since his first animagus transformation. He wondered if Remus dealt with a similar thing.
His question was answered when Remus said, “Pomfrey’s here. You better go.”
James had taken the cloak, so Peter just transformed and scampered under the bed, where Lupin’s clothes were still folded neatly. He crawled into the pocket of his robes and settled in, determined to stay with his friend at least until they reached the castle.
“Remus, dear?” Poppy called as she entered. She poked her head in the room and smiled when she saw him sitting up. “Oh, you’re awake. Goodness! Look at you!”
Remus grinned lazily at her. “Am I beautiful?”
“A bit more so than I’m used to seeing, I must say,” she replied, dropping to her knees beside him. Without asking permission, she grabbed his chin and turned his face left and right, then flung the blanket off his shoulders (Remus wasn’t happy about that bit) to check his torso. “No abrasions…”
“Must’ve been a good night,” Remus said evenly.
“It’s never a good night, but…hmm. Maybe the wolf’s finally grown up and learned he shouldn’t take his anger out on you, eh?”
Remus grinned at her. “Bet I could stand up, too.”
“Soon enough you won’t even need me.”
“I’ll always need you, Poppy.”
“You’re sweet.” She pinched his ear. “Get changed. I’ll wait outside for you.”
Remus wasn’t the least bit surprised to find a rat in his robes. Peter pointedly buried his nose in the fabric while he changed, and he made no effort to leave the pocket once Remus pulled his robes on. He murmured, “Just know she won’t let you in the hospital wing. She’d sooner magic some rat poison right up your whiskers, mate.”
If rats could yelp, he would’ve. As soon as they reached the castle entrance, he scrambled out of Moony’s pocket without assistance and bolted across the grounds, deciding that Poppy Pomfrey might actually be scarier than a real flesh-and-blood werewolf.