James was Peter's whole world when they were young.
The moment they met, Peter knew James was different from any other kid he'd ever met. He was kind, and didn't make fun of Peter because he didn't know how to play certain games or was in bad shape for sports. James was always so kind to him, so patient. They would spend hours and hours playing by themselves in James's garden because the other kids didn't want to play with Peter, but James said he preferred to play with him anyway.
They lived very close to each other; in fact, they were technically neighbors. Peter only took a six-minute walk from his house to James's, and they would see each other every day. James would show him everything he knew about Quidditch and discuss his favorite teams, and in return, Peter would teach him how to play chess and vent about his older siblings at home. And James would listen, he would always listen; and for the first time in his life, Peter felt like his voice deserved to be heard, that his opinions and feelings mattered to someone other than just himself and his own shadow.
That was, until they got on that train.
The Hogwarts Express was everyone's dream. Peter could remember his brother and sister talking about it nonstop when they came back from Hogwarts for their first break. Peter was excited about it, but it also made him anxious. When he received his letter, he couldn’t actually believe it at first. He knew he had magic since he was nine, but still, his aunts and brother loved to point out that it was weak, that even if he wasn't a squib, his magic would never be strong enough to even do anything relevant with it. Peter could not avoid feeling as if there had been a mistake, as if he didn't belong there. But just three feet away from him, there was James, smiling at him reassuringly and fondly as he awkwardly walked towards the train.
James had always been his anchor, the one and only person who could keep him grounded when he felt too low about himself. James would assure him he was wonderful, and that being his best friend was the best thing that had ever happened to him.
And James might have been Peter's anchor, but perhaps Peter had always been James's shackles.
The moment James met Sirius Black, Peter knew his relationship with James was never meant to last.
They were still friends, of course. James never wanted Peter to leave his side, and tried to get him into conversations. But Peter knew since the beginning of their Hogwarts journey, that Sirius was everything James wanted Peter to be, even if he never said it out loud.
Sirius was loud, that was the word that described him the best. He was loud, and so, so alive. And for Peter, who had always felt a little bit dead inside, that was like looking directly at the sun and getting a little blinded by its light. He tried, he really bloody tried, but he couldn't change who he was, how he felt, how he acted. No attempt was enough to get James to talk or look at him the way he did with Sirius Black.
When he was sorted into Gryffindor, he was so surprised that he tripped on his way to the Gryffindor table. Everyone clapped, and amidst all the loud noise, he could hear Sirius whistling and James shouting his name. Peter smiled nervously and sat between James and Remus. James gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder, and Remus just gave him a quiet nod. Peter didn't even look at Sirius when he called his name.
Peter Pettigrew had never been brave. He never felt like it, and his family reminded him every day how much of a coward he was. Since he could remember, he had always been afraid of making friends, and his parents needed to talk to the other kids for him to be able to have someone to play with. His siblings needed to force him to do new things like flying a broom, and his aunts scolded him when he refused to try new food. When he became friends with James, he became that force he needed to start opening up a little. James never forced anything into him, always respected his boundaries and tried showing him the light of life. He succeeded, of course, James always did; but when Sirius came into his life, that light started to banish little by little, wound by wound.
He knew from the beginning of his life that he would never be anyone's first choice. He knew it and accepted it. At least, he thought he did. His parents will always choose any of his siblings, just never him. His siblings will always choose each other, and James... oh, James. He really thought, for a period of time, that he was James's first choice, but now he realized that would never be the case, not while Sirius Black was still breathing.
He even tried getting close to Remus. The boy was quiet and liked reading. Peter initially thought that perhaps he was reserved with everyone, not just with him. But, fast enough, he realized that wasn't the case. Sirius, somehow, had broken that shield Remus always carried with him, cracked his mask, and got him into his most vulnerable human form. Remus loved Sirius, he loved him in a way Peter quite never understood, but again, he really never understood what was so special about Sirius Black that was leaving him completely alone, what was so special about him that he could just take everyone and everything away from him, even James.
He never intended to hurt him, to hurt any of them. Even after seven years of feeling like he was just something less than a sidekick for his friends, he still was something to them, at least he wasn't alone, at least James hadn't given up on him after everything. He never intended to do any harm, but Peter had always been weak, manipulable. The Dark Lord gave him what he had been craving his entire life, an opportunity to be someone, to do something important, to be someone's choice.
So he did it, he started working as a spy for the dark side. At first, it was alright— great, even. Voldemort chose him as one of his most loyal followers, he even sat next to him in the meetings with the rest of the Death Eaters. He felt like he was important, like he had done something right for the first time in his life, and for the look in Voldemort's eyes when he looked at him, he had.
The first time it actually hit him was when the news of the McKinnons reached his ears.
He had never been close to Marlene, not like Remus or James were, but he knew her; he knew her more than any of the people that had died in the war. He knew that her laugh was the loudest out of everyone in the Gryffindor tower, he knew she loved playing Quidditch just as much as James did, and that she loved reading some weird muggle books, which she would later recommend to Remus. He knew she loved music, especially rock, and she and Sirius would annoy everyone in the common room by singing and shouting lyrics left and right from their favorite rock bands. He may not have actually known her that well, but he saw her breathing and living for so many years, and because of him, she was dead.
He tried swallowing the feeling of guilt, tried pretending as if nothing had happened, and continued doing what the Dark Lord asked him to. That was the first time Peter actually realized how badly he had messed up, and he was now trapped. He couldn’t back off now, but still, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that he was always meant to end up like this.
When the prophecy came, Peter was the first person Voldemort asked for information.
He wanted every possible location of the Potters, their schedules, any piece of information that could help him get to them. And for the first time since he had joined the Death Eaters, he lied to the Dark Lord.
That was probably the bravest thing Peter Pettigrew ever did in all his pathetic and miserable life. He lied, he lied about everything he knew, about every piece of information he had. He lied as much as he could, until he couldn’t anymore.
James and Lily now knew about the prophecy, and Dumbledore had sent them into hiding. Those were the exact same words he told Voldemort when he asked again about the whereabouts of the Potters, but when the Dark Lord asked about the type of magic they were using to hide, Peter couldn't even think of a good enough lie, so he told the truth.
He knew that if the Potters or Sirius were suddenly found dead, it would be his fault, but none of that happened. Voldemort didn't know who the secret keeper was, Peter had had enough decency to keep that piece of information to himself, but he knew that the first suspect would be Sirius Black, James's best friend and Harry's godfather.
Sirius apparently had the same thoughts, because one night after a meeting, after everyone was already gone, Sirius asked him to be the new secret keeper.
He apparently had already told James and Lily about it, and both of them agreed. Sirius was the most obvious option, and nobody would ever suspect him.
"Is it because I look weak?" Peter wanted to ask him desperately. "Because I look incapable?" But he didn't say it out loud, because maybe he was; maybe he was weak and incapable and a coward, and maybe he'd always been.
After he became secret keeper, Voldemort knew. Peter wasn't sure how he knew it, but he did. Maybe he could read his mind, or maybe he'd never been really good at pretending, but in that moment, when Voldemort asked him the location of the Potters, Peter knew it was over.
Because he was a coward, after all.
He could have begged for James's life, just like Snape did for Lily's. Perhaps, that would have been the last decent thing he could have done for him. But deep inside, Peter knew that it was in vain. Snape never knew Lily the way he knew James, or even Lily herself. They both loved so hard, so intensely, so deeply, and they were so brave, something Peter never had been. They loved so much, and Harry was just the person they loved the most in the world. They wouldn't let their child die without a fight, and then Voldemort would kill them all three.
The moment it happened, Peter felt it in his bones, in every cell of his body, in every beat of his heart.
James was dead.
Peter never thought it was possible to feel absence so deeply in your soul you felt like your own shadow had been torn away from you. He felt it all, but at the same time he felt nothing at all—not when the Dark Lord was gone, and he had lost everything.
Sirius Black gave him a new reason to run: he was going to kill him, he had promised. With every single step he took, he could feel Sirius's breath on his neck like a sharp knife threatening to cut him open, and he deserved it; he knew he did.
But he didn't want to die.
So he ran and ran, until his lungs were full of memories, and regrets, and fear—oh, so much fear. He was terrified of dying.
It was just a matter of time until Sirius found him, he knew he didn't have much time. He had promised to kill him, and if he knew something about Sirius Black, was that he was always true to his threats.
So he did the only thing that crossed his mind—the only thing that gave him an actual shot to survive. He hid among the Muggles, even though he knew Sirius would find him anywhere, and when he inevitably did, Peter was ready.
He caused an explosion that killed probably hundreds of Muggles; he wasn't sure, but he didn't care that much. Sirius was there in the explosion, but he didn't die; Peter's plan had never been to kill him.
He held his breath, and without thinking too much, because if he did, he might never be able to do it, he cut one of his fingers. The pain was terrible, the blood was everywhere, but when he transformed into his rat form once again, the pain was already gone, so was Peter.
And he ran once again—he ran away from the life he used to have, the life he would never have again. He ran from his guilt, from his bad decisions, and from every time he betrayed himself.
He ran and never looked back; that was the one thing he always did the best.
He was a coward, after all.