On the Run (again)
Fuck, Fuckidy Fuck, how did this happen?
Why did these things always happen to him?
How did he end up getting caught again?
By his fellow Marauders again?
How in Merlin’s name had he managed to live with the Weasleys for the best part of thirteen years and never heard as much as a whisper of the twins having the Marauder's Map all this time?
How come nobody had spotted the name Peter Pettigrew on the map before?
Why did he even show on the map in rat form at all? Did animals show up on the map? He remembered Mrs Norris showing up on the map, but no other pets that he could recall.
How had Harry Potter, self-proclaimed best friend of Ron Weasley, been in possession of the Marauder's Map for the best part of a year without him knowing?
That fucking map had been right under his nose in their dormitory all this time.
He could have dragged it to some out of the way corner out of sight at any time. He could have chewed his way through that blasted bit of parchment over the past number of months, if only he had known to look for it.
What bloody bad luck that one of his fellow Marauders ended up teaching in Hogwarts and recognised the significance of that innocent looking forgotten piece of parchment.
And how in Merlin’s name did that other good for nothing Marauder manage to see the only photo in existence of him as a rat in that Merlin forsaken prison of all places?
He did not think they circulated the Daily Prophet to Azkaban and definitely did not think they would let the prisoners read the paper.
You couldn’t make up such a combination of coincidences and bad luck.
Why could he never catch a break?
And what was he to do now?
He wouldn’t be able to go back to any wizarding family as a pet, as no doubt Moony and Padfoot, if he managed to escape the dementor’s kiss this time, would have put out an alert about any nineteen-toed rat by now.
He couldn’t live on the streets. How could he? He had never had to fend for himself for a single day in the past thirteen years, or in fact in his entire life.
Maybe he could try to hide in the Riddle Mansion. He vaguely remembered where that was.
Maybe the Dark Lord would return one day, or maybe one of the Death Eaters would take pity on him, if they found him there, loyally waiting for the Dark Lord to return?
Such sheer damn bad luck to have his identity been discovered this way and his careful, and if he recalled quite painful, plan to discredit Padfoot foiled through the old map. A map he had helped create, in the hands of a thirteen year old boy.
If truth be told, but why go there, the idea for the Marauder's Map had sprouted from the imagination of James and Sirius and Remus as usual had supplied the superior magic to actually make the map work, but he had been there. He was their trusted friend, until he had no choice but to betray James. Prongs would have understood. The pressure had been too great. The Dark Lord had been too powerful, until a tiny tot had put a stop to that.
That blasted Boy Who Lived seemed to have luck on his side at every turn.
With one last look at Hogwarts Castle, Scabbers, also known as Wormtail, scurried away into the undergrowth in the approximate direction of Riddle Mansion, to start his long journey in search of salvation and protection.