An observer
It’s cold on the bleachers of the Quidditch stadium. Remus, Peter and Lily observe how the blurry silhouettes of the Gryffindor team soar at maximum speed in front of their eyes. Peter can’t help but think that he envies his friends’ ease to rise into the air, to barely be two red flashes that the public cheers for.
Remus, on the other hand, can’t even manage to pretend he’s awake. The full moon has already been two nights ago, but he’s still affected by his transformation. And he’d be lying if he said that he doesn’t remember every second of how Sirius rest him, barely conscious, against his shoulders, or how he carried him into the castle, or how he got his dirty hair out of his forehead once he was lying on the hospital wing’s bed. Of course he doesn’t remember any of that. Except that the only thing he wants is to feel Sirius’ shoulders easily bearing his weight, while his arms keep him against his body and make it inevitable for him to smell the soil and the rain and the sweet and distinctive and intoxicating musk on Sirius. Merlin, how can someone smell so terribly good?
It’s a pity that Remus, of course, can’t remember anything. Because if he did (which he does NOT) he wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about it.
The scarlet blur that is James Potter chasing the snitch gets him out of his thoughts when he flies nearly scratching their heads. Remus knows that his friend controls the broom as if it was one more extremity on his body, but he still get surprised when he sees the very complicated pirouette that James catches the snitch with.
The bleachers burst into applause, in a sea of screams and red and gold cheers. James smiles to his public, stands on his broom, bows down. He looks to his friends in their seats, and his smile is so sincere, so happy, that Lily catches herself reciprocating it. She quickly wipes it off her face, hoping that the seeker hasn’t noticed, which seems to be true, since he’s busy throwing an arm over Sirius’ shoulders and waving his damn winged ball into the air.
Her little mess-up seems to have gone unnoticed, and Lily promises herself that it won’t happen again.
But there is a third spectator. The external observer, as he usually calls himself. Peter Pettigrew is small, quiet and shy, but his eyes don’t miss any detail of what’s going on around him. It doesn’t go unnoticed to him that Remus’ expression, while seemingly lost, follows Sirius unconsciously with his eyes. He doesn’t miss Lily Evans’ smile when James exhibits himself, as much as she tries to conceal it. Peter is perfectly aware of how Lily feels, and he’s also perfectly and painfully aware of how much James would give for that information. Of the sincere, big and amazing smile that would grow on his face if Peter just told him what he has seen.
Peter Pettigrew doesn’t miss anything going on around him, but something in the pit of this stomach doesn’t let him correct himself when he thinks that it’s better for everyone if he stays quiet. When the players fly down into the locker room he stands, smiles and follows Remus and Lily to the Common Room, while the three of them get lost in the sea of cloaks, pennants, red cockades and golden lions.