At first, he had gone to be alone. Remus hated being there when it wasn’t the full moon, so the Marauders usually went other places. Currently, they were busy designing a map of the entire grounds. He wasn’t sure how well that would work, but he left them to it.
In the Shack, Peter would pace, practice his magic, and worry about the upcoming war. The others didn’t understand. He wasn’t ready to die. They were only seventeen; he had a whole life ahead of him. He wasn’t like Sirius, who needed to take a stand against the family that had disowned him, or Remus, who needed a cause to fight for, or James, who needed to protect Lily--not that she needed it. He was just Wormtail, the smallest and least of them in every single way.
He didn’t want to die. He wasn’t even eighteen. He had only ever kissed two girls, and had never gotten much further.
Peter grabbed the fabric of his robes, twisting them in his hands. He let go and took a deep breath, trying to feel as brave as the Hat had claimed he was when it Sorted him in Gryffindor.
He took one more shuddering breath, in and out.
–I’m not ready to die,†he whispered.
Years pass. The War is fought, destroys innumerable lives, and then, at last, comes to a shuddering conclusion because of a mother’s love and sacrifice. Peter comes back to Hogwarts as a pet, as a rat.
Now, the Shrieking Shack is the only place where he can be human. He isn’t sure if he can fully appreciate the irony, that the place to which Moony was banished to transform into a werewolf is the only place he can be human, but that’s the way life is.
Sneaking out of the castle is much the same. Percy, like every other Weasley he’s ever known, is a Gryffindor. Gryffindor Tower hasn’t changed since the Marauders left Hogwarts. The dorms are still outfitted in four poster beds, the Fat Lady still guards the portrait hole, and the fire still crackles all night long. The entire castle hasn’t changed much. As a rat, he can still creep out of the dormitory, down the stairs, out of the castle, out to the Whomping Willow, and through the tunnel to the Shrieking Shack--just as long as he avoids the pet cats, of course.
After making sure no one is there, he transforms back into his human shape. It’s been nine years since James and Lily died, nine years since Sirius tried to kill him. Harry will be coming to Hogwarts in September. The Dark Lord is still out there, somewhere; Peter is sure of it. And when he returns... Peter will be there. Because he is still afraid to die. Because he still isn’t James, who died for his wife and his son. Because he still isn’t Sirius, who hunted him down, trying to kill him for betraying James and Lily and then went to Azkaban. Because he still isn’t Remus, who is probably working on some other cause by now.
Peter walks around the Shack, slowly. It feels strange to walk on two feet instead of four. He spends so much time as a rat now. The world is all out of order: the floor is so much farther, the ceiling so much closer. He can see some colors as a rat, but not all of them. He can tell the difference between blues and greens, in a general sort of way, but he can’t really see red. All the brilliant scarlet of Gryffindor Tower is just dark to him. He wishes that he had some real Gryffindor red to stare at. The smells of wood, earth, and stale air had receeded.
After a few minutes of pacing across the floor and trying to feel like himself again in his human body, Peter sits down and leans against the wall. It’s strange, being able to sit like this. He tries to force himself to relax. He doesn’t get many opportunities to be human anymore. Percy usually forgets about him around exams, but he’s also the most diligent of the Weasley kids.
Peter closes his eyes and tries to think back to happier times. Back when being friends with James and Sirius made him feel like he was someone important, too. Back when they were first learning how to become Animagi. Back when the most important thing to them was a great prank on Snivellus or going on the pull in Hogsmeade. Back before the War. Back before he turned his back on his House, on his friends, and on his family.
Unbidden, his mind summons a distant memory.
It was their first year, and they were still feeling things out with one another. Sirius was still getting in fights with everyone over being a Black in Gryffindor: the Gryffindors who thought he didn’t belong, and the Slytherins who thought he was a blood traitor, even the few Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs who dared to comment about his house. Remus was keeping to himself: missing classes, seemingly at random, and mumbling excuses about his sick mum. None of them had figured out the real reason yet.
Even then, he knew that James and Sirius would eventually be somebodies--and that, without them, he wouldn’t be anybody. Peter had already got into a scuffle with a few older Slytherins and come out much worse for the wear. If it hadn’t been for Sirius coming to his rescue, he would’ve been completely battered. Sirius never needed an excuse to brawl with Slytherins, though. He had received yet another Howler from his mother, and he smirked at the breakfast table, not caring that the entire school knew his business.
One boring day before spring hols, they started discussing the Hogwarts ghosts.
–Nearly Headless Nick is a nice guy, and I’m not just saying that because he’s the Gryffindor House Ghost,†Sirius said. –I mean, the Fat Friar isn’t bad, but the Grey Lady and the Bloody Baron never even talk!â€
–That’s not true. I’ve heard some of the Ravenclaws say that the Grey Lady will speak to them. Maybe she just prefers her own House,†James said, with a shrug.
Remus was on the other side of the table, looking ill and picking at his food.
–Are you all right, Remus?†Peter asked. He hadn’t liked the discussion of the ghosts, and was hoping to turn the conversation away.
Remus looked up from his plate, where he had been pushing around a few peas. –Ah, fine. Just not feeling hungry, I guess.â€
–Why do you think the Baron’s covered in blood?†Sirius asked.
Peter winced and turned back to his steak and ale pie.
–I don’t know,†James pondered, stroking his chin, and curling his fingers in an absurdly overexaggerated gesture. –I think someone should ask.â€
Peter took a bite of his steak and ale pie, hoping that James would ask Sirius instead, but of course: –Peter! I dare you to ask the Bloody Baron why he’s covered in blood.â€
He bit down on the sigh that threatened to escape. –All right. I’ll do it.†He tried to sound more convincing than he felt.
Sirius leaped up. –We should try to find him now!â€
Peter looked down at his lunch. He was almost ready to recant his agreement on the dare when Remus said, –It’s about time for afternoon classes to start.â€
Students were slowly leaving the Great Hall. Silently, Peter was thrilled that the search for the Bloody Baron would have to wait until after class.
Unfortunately, the dare was all that James and Sirius could talk about, and all he could think about, throughout the rest of their classes. As they ground up herbs for Potions class, James and Sirius wondered if the Baron was nearby. As they marched up the stairs for Transfiguration, they asked if he had killed someone. Having successfully transformed their mice into snuff boxes, and back, they wondered if the Baron had been murdered.
All the talk just made it worse. The Bloody Baron never spoke, and he was the most frightening ghost Peter could have ever imagined. Peter wasn’t sure how he was going to actually go up to the Bloody Baron and ask him something so audacious.
After class, Remus had mumbled some excuse about seeing Madam Pomfrey. Normally, James and Sirius would have needled him about it, but today they had bigger, more important plans. Peter felt sick to his stomach.
–Where do you think he is?†James asked.
–Probably in the dungeons, with the rest of the snakes.†Sirius snorted.
Peter was trapped between them. He couldn’t leave if he wanted to. Besides, if he backed out now, what would he do? He couldn’t.
They hurried along the corridors, making their way deeper into the castle. –To the dungeons?â€
–Yep, down to snake land. Let’s hope we don’t run into any of those bastards.â€
Peter hoped against hope that they wouldn’t actually find the Baron.
Of course, his luck didn’t hold.
In a deserted corridor, past the Potions classroom, the Bloody Baron floated. He seemed to be observing something or someone through a window.
–Go on, then,†James urged him.
–Do it,†Sirius added.
When he hesitated, Sirius pushed him forward.
Peter walked up to the Baron, trying not to shiver too much. –Excuse me,†he said, voice cracking at the worst possible moment.
The Baron turned around, chains clanking, and gazed at him, but said nothing. His eyes were blank, almost as if he had not heard Peter at all. The Slytherin House Ghost was known to be reclusive, so Peter pushed on, before he lost all his nerves. –Why are you covered in blood?â€
Vaguely, he heard James and Sirius high-five each other.
For a moment, Peter had thought the Baron was just going to leave, slide through a wall, and refuse to answer.
Then the Baron replied, –Betrayal.†The ghost’s voice was scratchy, as if he didn’t use it much.
–What?†The word escaped him before he could stop it.
–Guilt and betrayal,†the Baron intoned, before vanishing.
He was stuck there for a moment. Guilt and betrayal. That could mean almost anything.
–What do you suppose he meant?†James whispered, almost in awe that the Baron had spoken.
–Dunno,†was all the response Peter could manage.
Guilt and betrayal. The words echo in his ears. Peter opens his eyes and stands up. He takes one last look around the Shrieking Shack. This will be the last time he can see these kinds of colors for a while as he can only manage these trips once every few months. If Scabbers were gone too often, Percy would get suspicious. Peter doesn’t doubt that Percy could figure out what he is if Scabbers somehow slips up. He stretches, joints popping. His knees and elbows don’t bend the same way as a rat’s do.
He paces for a bit longer, trying to banish thoughts of his former friends and the Bloody Baron from his mind.
After a few minutes of struggling and failing accept what he has done, he transforms back into a rat. Scabbers breathes a little sigh of relief. A rat has simpler feelings than a man has. As a rat, he feels hunger and physical pain, but his conscience no longer quite reaches him. The guilt no longer gnaws at his insides, reminding him that he separated Remus from the rest of the Order of the Phoenix, that he sentenced Sirius to a lifetime in Azkaban, that he killed James and Lily, that he orphaned Harry.
Scabbers should return to Percy soon, before he is missed. Back through the dark familiar tunnel, he scampers. Back to Hogwarts, back up to the top of Gryffindor Tower, he dashes.
Eventually, he is back in the fourth year Gryffindor boys’ dormitory. Scabbers settles down on Percy’s pillow to sleep. He is only a rat, and he does not dream.