Chapter Text
A note for everyone;
I will be honest. I had no plans to finish this. But I have things I’ve written from a long time ago, and I am willing to put it together so that the plot will at least be done. My friend told me I was an ass for leaving it as it was, and although I doubt many care, I will put together the scraps, in a way you can all hopefully follow. Here's the ending.
It will be a mess! I warn you!
> Ron aquires the potion, and sets off to get the horcruxes. This creates the side plot for the main narrative with Peter and Remus. Through a few struggles, and help from the people of that time, they destroy them all except for one.
> The following is an alternative scene I’d written for Ch 34; but it may as well be plot relevant at this point. Perhaps interesting or maybe not.
To be clear, it hadn’t been an accident. Although if anyone were to ask he’d plead that it was; especially if everything went wrong. So far, everything had gone fine, but that wasn’t to say that it had gone well.
Remus eyed the potion in his fingers with trepidation.
He’d done rather well with it. Peter had spoken about how terrible it was to use and how tricky it was but he’d had no accidents, he’d just thought where he’d wanted to go and now here he was, two feet in the chamber of secrets in front of a massive skeleton.
Did he have to do this? No, he knew he didn’t have to do anything. When Peter had written out the detailed notes for Sirius it’d come with the clear distinction that Harry, James’ son, was destined to kill Voldemort and no one else. Unfortunately, Remus actually liked Harry and didn’t want to wait an eternity for the old bastard to kick it, so he’d subtly read over a few key points.
And Remus knew Peter wouldn’t want to participate in the whole endeavour which was why he was all by himself.
He whistled a merry tune while pulling at a fang. He didn’t know exactly when or where he was, but that was fine, since he’d only wanted the venom. The venom which he’d use to destroy Voldy’s soul. Of course. How the hell Peter had kept something of this magnitude to himself he could only speculate, but he supposed Peter always had been good at keeping secrets.
Remus continued to whistle as he tipped the bottle, and only stopped when he was spiralling through to his next location.
Seeing as there was barely any detail, he was mostly just going with luck at his belt.
“Lumos,” He muttered, and piles of golden coins were illuminated around him. Remus’ eyes searched among knuts and old gaudy headdresses. When he though he found something vaguely reminiscent of a cup, he came closer only to frown when it was revealed to be a gilded pet bowl. “I see.” He kept walking.
Suddenly, it was clear that the first step was by far the easiest part. He knew for a fact he was in the right location; he figured he’d be hard pressed to see a mix of both black and lestrange emblems anywhere but in Bellatrix’s fault, but it was still painfully difficult. It was like the game Lily liked to play called ‘I spy.’
He looked around, at worn metallic objects and golden arcs and stuck his hands in his pockets.
When considering defeating old Voldy, he’d not wanted to just stop at his own world. He’d wanted to help out Harry’s world; but that meant doing everything twice, and debatably he wasn’t making much of difference when there were a million other realities where Harry had to do everything himself. So he’d humoured himself with the idea that he’d do what he can, and it was better than doing nothing at all.
He slumped around piles of currency along tiny paths of exposed floor. Remus’ foot bumped a stray galleon, which he assumed was not consequential until his shoe exploded with heat and the galleon duplicated. He swore loudly and vibrantly, and then again when the galleon hit another and that duplicated too. The vial was quickly retrieved and within a blink he was back in his room.
Remus bit his lip in consideration and looked around his orderly room. His travelling bags were still near the doorway. His back hit the bedsheets and he stared up at the ceiling. The vial was held over his eyes with the lip tightly on. He turned it around in his hands, then winced and leaned over to his foot to pull his shoe off. The shoe was burnt.
The shoe landed itself neatly into the laundry basket. Maybe he ought to have aimed for a bin, but he didn’t have any in his room. He’d remember to throw it out later.
To be honest, he was very nervous about meeting his friends again. Upon meeting his parents, they’d erupted into tears and frightful words, but it had ended soon enough. His mum was most likely outside his door, and so naturally Remus was itching to escape and go somewhere. The full moon was tomorrow on the calendar above his bed, so even his bones felt itchy.
Someone knocked on the door. “Come in.”
His mum entered nervously, and she clearly must have retreated elsewhere while he was away because she had something in her arms she hadn’t had when she’d greeted him at the door a few hours back.
“I don’t know how much you like the things I make for you,” His mum said, “But while you were away I had a lot of free time, you know how it is, and so…” While laughing nervously, she unbundled what was in her arms to reveal a large handcrafted blanket. It was decorated finely, with images of lions and wolves and other things that shouldn’t have gone together well.
“It’s for you,” She said in response to his awed silence. “Okay, well, it was for me because I didn’t think you’d — well. It’s yours now. Take good care of it, okay? This is my best piece so far, and it took a while. Just, promise me, honey, that you won’t disappear like that again? I haven’t asked about where you’ve gone because I know the reporters will dive in tomorrow, but I’ve thought the worst for months now and…”
Remus swallowed heavily.
He’d never understood what to do when his mum started crying. He settled for getting off his bed and awkwardly approaching her, which was clearly the right thing to do when she embraced him as harshly as she had when he’d turned up on the doorstep. She bawled her eyes out that he could feel his shoulders getting sticky through the thin shirt he was wearing. He was certain half of the protection he got from her tears was from the blanket now wedged between them.
“I missed you so much.”
He patted her back. “I missed you too.”
He’d missed so many people.
He’d been underestimating how much they’d be excited to see him. He’d been fearful of seeing them again out of fear of how things might go — he’d changed a lot, and his friends would be pissed that he’d been gone for so long — but he ought to stop putting it off. He’d been able to visit them since the moment he’d come back home. Remus had to search for them, he had a full month before school came back for the new, sixth, year.
“Honey?”
“Mm?”
“Why do you only have one shoe on?”
> The point would be to establish that Remus takes control and finds one or two horcruxes by his lonesome. After, he would meet his friends again, and would have the reunion scene in Ch 34. But the way I chose to write it, Ch 35 would have been him finding these horcruxes.
> What is certain is that he does this with the marauders (save Peter who is completely unaware). But when Remus does this without Peter, his friend’s take note. They realise it is out of care. After Peter fighting to not be involved in the plot the whole time, Remus finally takes note and excludes him. After voicing this, his friends accept this.
> However, Peter has changed. Through everything that’s happened with Harry, Ron and Hermione, he’s grown to realise that he cares for them. He cares for Remus, most of all, and so given the opportunity to join them he’d have immediately accepted.
> Peter has by this point become an expert on the purple potion. After he visits Ditzy, who he sees as a maternal figure, he goes to Remus’ house but finds it empty. At a loss, he finds himself at Spinners End. He runs into Lily, who embraces him, and Peter apologises and tells her he forgives her. She at some point mentions that the marauders are together, and Peter assumes correctly that Remus has joined them. Unassuming, he makes to return to his house, but Lily offers him her spare bedroom.
> In the few days before the semester starts, they become close friends again.
> Peter at some point meets Lockhart of the Marauder’s era, who at this point is a bit obsessed with him. Lockhart, it turns out, is a dreamer. He has taken an interest in Peter; who’s soulmate is dead. Lockhart confronts Peter at an inopportune time, just the two of them on the train.
“It’s all fun and games with soulmates, isn’t it, eh Pete?”
Peter frowned at him. His eyes flickered to every corner of the carriage, then to every corner of his expression. Lockhart stood stiffly, in a small stance. He looked so small, and yet his expression was unfathomably malevolent. But there was something sad to it, too.
He took a step back and almost stumbled, when Lockhart’s hand came reaching out to grab his shoulder. He pulled Peter close, and Peter swallowed.
“I’ve never had one.” Lockhart said. “Across the world, people are awarded perfect matches and yet I have not one! I’ve never the chance to rescue a heroine, to wed a beauty as perfect as myself. Because fate has not allowed it.”
Peter shoved himself out of Lockhart’s arms. “Look, I don’t know what your problem is,” He started. “But it’s got nothing to do with me.”
“Of course it doesn’t. It’s always been me. Just me. All alone, never with anyone. All because magic didn’t gift me what I deserve as a person of the human race. Even muggles — hell, squibs — have soulmates, but magic decided to mark me faulty. Don’t you think I deserve someone?”
“People who don’t have matches don’t want them,” Peter trailed off.
“You would think that, wouldn’t you? It’s all propaganda.” His chin jutted upwards. “I’ve always wanted one. Since I was a kid, I wanted someone who would match me. And then, one day, I found it! And it was just me.
“People like to say that those without matches just don’t want them. But that’s untrue. I’ve always wanted one, dear Pete. When I found out what my mark meant… I was oh so upset. Everyone thought my mark was ridiculous. Hear that? Ridiculous! After I got my letter, I planned to find like-marked people, but I found none. So I did some research.
“I pulled all my attentions from studies, and onto what I wanted to work on. I read up soul marks, and soul dust. And during the midst, I was lonely! I studied too much. It was isolation.”
His words were starting to feel familiar, and it made Peter feel sick. He did not want to sympathise with god damn Lockhart. “Then,” He scratched his hand. “You should have found people to talk to. Other than me.”
“Like you did?”
Peter looked into Lockhart’s eyes. They were wide, bright blue, and frenzied. And, amidst the lilt in his eyelids, mocking. He stared at Peter as if he knew him inside and out.
“It’s easy to play the fool,” Lockhart said. “But don’t bother. Perhaps my studying was bad in some ways, but the things I found out…! Oho, would you like to know?”
“Not really.”
“I found out that all marks are joined to their partners by a singular magical thread. I found out, Pete dearest, that these threads are invisible to the naked eye. I found out that I can cut them, that I can bend them, I can tie them together and rip them apart; wizards call this taboo, but they don’t know the struggles of being without a partner. And you can sympathise, can you not? Your partner is dead.
“This is why I humoured your wishes for friendship.” Humoured what?! “I approached you with the intent to first gain your loyalty and trust, and later, so that I could eventually experiment with your bond and the spells I have created! I planned to make you love me, adore me. And now, I have come to fulfill our bond’s purpose. It wouldn’t suit me to experiment on myself, after all.”
Peter opened his mouth, and then closed it. “That’s dark magic, Lockhart. You don’t understand it and you’ve never been my friend.” He was clearly crazed. He’s misunderstood something at some point, and he’d jumped the gun.
“You’re just upset, and regardless, even if that was true — I can change that,” Lockhart said with a grin. He stepped forward languidly, and his previously small figure looked mutated and large. It was a trick of the light, but it still made a shiver go through Peter’s body.
“People will learn to adore me,” Lockhart said. “I will change their threads and lead them all to me. People will worship the ground I walk on. Witches and wizards across the world will respect me and my brilliance. All I’ve ever wanted, Pete, was a match. But magic denied me that. I’m simply taking what I deserve.”
“Sure doesn’t sound like what you’re searching for is a match,” Peter said. “You’re looking for followers. You don’t know how —“ He clenched his fists, “— fucking hard wanting a match actually is. You don’t care. I can tell.”
“So what? This isn’t havoc I’m willing to create, dear Pete. I’m willing to create a miracle. And for your years of friendship, ever since that week after I first got my Hogwart’s letter —“
“— We were never friends —“
“— I’m willing to find your soulmate for you, and tie your threads back together.”
Peter froze. He looked up. His heart felt jittery and his head felt full of lead. Lockhart had just not said that. “Mine is dead.”
“No,” Lockhart said with a wicked grin. “They’re not. Perhaps you don’t remember showing me your soulmark? You wouldn’t.”
“I wouldn’t have done that.”
“Yes, you did! You fell asleep in the library that day, all alone! You were practically begging me to look, sleeping out there in the open! Your shirt was shifted up — and a favour for a favour was all it was. I gave you a blanket that day, and you let me look.”
“I didn’t let you do shit! That was not fucking permission!” He clenched his jaw, and found himself really wishing for his gloves.
“You’ll be grateful when I tell you what I know.”
“Doubt it, shit head.”
“Don’t speak to me like that, Pete dearest! Because, see —“
“Shut up. Shut the hell up.”
Lockhart smiled widely, and it didn’t reach his eyes. “Oh, I’ve been silent for so long. You will not silence me further. In fact, you will love me for what I will tell you.”
“Doubt it.”
“Your soulmate isn’t dead.” Peter opened his mouth instantly in revulsion, but a hand shoved in his direction silenced him. “Ah ah, listen. They’re not dead. Perhaps your mark is faded — most likely why you believed the theory — but you can still see colour. And that means that, and you will be glad to know this, your match is alive.”
Peter inhaled deeply.
“They’ve always been alive. But I must say, you won’t want them. It’s a shame what the mark actually means.”
It couldn’t be true. He couldn’t have a match. What about Remus? Remus, who’d given up his own for him? It was unfair.
“It means one of two things. One, your match is close to death — unlikely, as after a long period of muted colour they ought to be dead by now. Two. Your match is a werewolf.”
There was ice in his veins.
Remus had said once, that his mark was a flower. Peter had never seen it. Earlier, because he hadn’t cared and later, because he hadn’t wanted to. Seeing the mark after spitting on the connection felt awful — so he’d never asked.
He’d never been told what flower. He’d, once again, never asked.
Peter looked down at his stomach and imagined the mark across his shirt. Large, pale, yellow.
“So you won’t want them,” Lockhart said easily over the rushing blood in his head. “Nobody would want a werewolf. So I will join your thread to mine, and you will adore me.”
Peter didn’t say anything. The wand in his hand shook ever so slightly. He felt sick.
> Following this, there is a battle which ends in Lockhart’s defeat. Peter, after the battle, tries to find the marauders on the train. But they’re not there.
There wasn’t much to say regarding knowing his soulmate was alive. That it was Remus. Because there was no surprise upon finding out. Sometimes one just knew. He must have known. In fact, the moment it had faded, perhaps he’d known. Because of hope. Because of something.
Because the world hated him, and it was born to hate him. Him living as Peter was proof the world hated him. It made sense that he had no one to match with, because he’d stolen this body. He’d stolen the father who hit and the mother who’d sung sweetly, who’d died young, and he’d stolen the clothes and the cot and the lamp and the bed. And so it had made sense to him, young and hopeful, that his soulmate was dead. Because he was an outlier.
His mother, he’d known, had gotten the dregs of society. Had gotten what remained from a full pond, had taken the tadpole that swam through the tides. She’d grabbed it with her hand and pulled out an infection. That was what remained, and it was hers, and it had killed her. That was the true reality of a soulmate system.
Because if you had what remained, then it was yours. Whoever you had was yours. And you had to love them, and know them, and live by their word because that was fate. It was everything. No choice, Peter had always known that, no choice. And for an outlier, no soulmate. Despite the loss of innocence, and the tears, and the prayers to no God in particular, he’d accepted it easily enough.
He’d been young, confused, and it had made sense. But he’d been hopeful.
Hope, he found, was a dangerous emotion. It was what clogged the senses. It was what kept a soul moving from one place to the next, it lead them to the lottery and to new heights and sights. It dogged the footsteps, filled the head. It had spurred him on regardless of the greyness to the sunflower on his stomach.
Because Peter had always had hope. He’d been unwell, he was unwell — but he kept going. Because of hope. Because somehow, things had to work out. Things had to get better. Because of the old adage that when you’re at rock bottom the only way forward was up. He’d kept going, and going, and he’d been hopeful. And he’d met Remus’ eyes way back when, and he’d been hopeful.
Of course it had never made sense that Remus was his. Never. Not in the beginning, perhaps not even now, but he’d been hopeful. Hope was a poison. Hope was his reality. It was Remus, holding him close, ruffling his hair, being everything he’d ever damned wanted.
And Peter didn’t have a habit of working for what he got. And he didn’t care about things. And he was fearful and cowardly, and he was born that way, and he occasionally made lapses in judgement — or mostly made lapses in judgement — and that was him and that was it. But he’d been hopeful. And Remus had been there. Always there. Always with him. And when he smiled at Peter, everything was better. Not okay but better. And that was hope fulfilled.
It was more dangerous when hope was fulfilled. Because it gave false promise. And that false promise, too, lead him on. Carried the carrot above his fat head. Gave credence to the steps he’d walked, because for a moment, it was all worth it. For Remus.
For Peter. For Remus. For hope, for knowing too much. For the frog stickers on his lamp. For the wind chimes in the attic. For sunflowers, and Ditzy, and the daydreams before bed. And when Remus smiled it was okay. For a moment.
But then there was reality, and reality was damning.
And Remus wasn’t there. He couldn’t find him. And in the beginning he’d been all by himself, and that had been good, and he’d not had to think further. But without warning Remus had pried himself into his life. Into his chest. Peeled back the flesh, removed the ribs, sidled up inside of him. And now Peter realised that he’d not been alone for a long time. A very long time.
And Lily, there, in the carriage, welcomed him. And people welcomed him back home in the corridors. And Snape had even spared him a nod, an acknowledgement earlier. And maybe what was dangerous was knowing that he’d never had a damned chance to be alone. Not since Hogwarts. Not since living amongst people.
> He sits at the great feast with Lily, who also doesnt know where the marauders are. Confused, Peter goes back upstairs, and finds them with the cup, the diadem and a few assorted basilisk fangs. It turns out that finding horcruxes is damn easy with the ability to travel through space and time on a whim.
> The boys amicably decide on a truce, and Peter treats Remus no differently from before. Together, they break the Horcruxes. However the breaking of the two in quick succession alerts the one and only Lord Voldemort, which they later realise through rampages in the papers that had not been as severe previously.
“Why should we care?” Sirius smirked over breakfast. “The bastard’s not aware of our cheat skill. Not like it’s gonna be bloody hard to just, you know, go back in time and get it. Face it, as soon as you made that potion, we were guaranteed to win.”
“We can’t run out of it,” Remus said warningly, and the panic from earlier had justifiably faded. “I don’t know how we made it the first time.
“Dumb luck,” Peter replied. And, statistically, if there was unlimited realities; they’d just found the one where it had worked out. In another reality, Ron hadn’t used it as a trash can, and the potion could only make people speak in verse.
> At some point Sirius does a test to check how to make the potion, and the ingredients list reveals something new.
“Wait who the fuck put a time-turner in it?”
Peter met eyes with Remus, and in a tired, exhausted drawl, replied; “Hermione.”
Because God forbid she wasn’t exactly like her friends.
> Lily manages to squeeze her way into learning of everything one day, and they all gather and decide to go for the locket. Peter isn’t invited to come along, but insists on doing so. This finally earns Sirius’ complete respect. When they plan out finding the locket, they realise that they don’t know enough about dark magic to get out of the cave. Sirius’ respect for Peter immediately goes under fire when Peter asks Severus for help.
> Lily doesn’t approve of Severus but approves of the idea. She helps the group by calling him over, and tells him the only way he can ever be forgiven is by contributing; showing once and for all what side he is on. None of Severus’ questions are answered, but Severus, gunning for Lily’s approval, accepts anyway.
> The island is too small for more than three people. The potion is capable of bringing them to the basin without need to go across the lake, as well as bringing them back. Peter lets slip what happened to Regulus, and as a result, the three who go are Lily, Sirius, and Severus.
Sirius thought he was the bravest. It was an objective fact. Because James was secretly a softy, and Remus was prone to failing around the full moon, Peter, and Lily was headstrong but very skittish when it came down to it. Snivellus was just a bastard. A good enough scapegoat for the potion, but that didn’t stop him from feeling bad about it.
One day, Sirius was going to become an auror. Snivellus was going to become a bastard by the looks of things; he wouldn’t let this event fool him. Snivellus didn’t know what he’d been signing up for, after all. Just wanted to please Lily. Sirius understood accepting her offer, however. He doubted she’d have offered that if not for how dire their circumstances had been. She just wasn’t the sort to forgive easily, and Snivellus had really turned her into a wreck. Bastard that he was.
Sirius liked Lily. He was glad his mate fell in with such a good chick. But her facing Snivellus down on a tiny island surrounded by inferi really striked up some odd emotions. Headstrong, scary, that was Lily Evans. Jamie called her an angel but he’d be damned. Snivs stood tall, strong, big nose nigh across. It was like those movies he’d seen with the lads, with those fancy fat gang members in their suits and bowler hats. Cat and mouse.
Snivs stood strong, but Sirius saw the way the goblet shook in his hands.
Sirius was the bravest. It was an objective fact. He’d faced his parents, and old fucks more than happy to throw around the cruciatus curse on a whim. His sorting shaped him, as had his mates. And he wasn’t cowardly. It was his bravery that had put him where he ought to be. And Snivs was a Slytherin.
Cunningly, because he wasn’t an unintelligent man, he’d accepted Lily’s lone lifeline. But Snivs was a Slytherin. Back with the others, Sirius had known what they were gonna make him do. And Snivs took the order from Lily with a straight face. But the shaking.
Sirius had the purple potion in his pocket, and he was in charge of brining them back. It was a stupid idea to take the goblet from Sniv’s hands.
He took it anyway.
“Sirius!” Lily shrieked the same moment Sirius yanked the goblet free. She yelled his name again when in the next movement he brought the liquid to his mouth. Slytherins weren’t built for roles better off for lions.
He’d known why they’d brought Snivs. But something about it, push came to shove, he realised he just couldn’t let that happen. Lily had to forgive him now he’d come. Sirius winked at Sniv’s white face as he passed the goblet over for the next swig.
And the voices were an inferno.
> Severus takes them back. He recognises how to use the potion from Lily’s frantic recalling of an explanation. Sirius is nursed back to health, and Severus gains respect for him.
“Perhaps,” Severus said, “you were not as incorrigible as I believed. I did not think that thought was ever to come to pass.”
Sirius winked at him. “You were always gonna think that, love. Destined, we are.”
“It’s a shame that you’re so thick-headed.”
“You love it,” Sirius replied.
“Hardly. But I guess I shall deal with it,” he sniffed.
“That you shall, my slimy little knobhead.”
“Now that I know how your potion works, perhaps I ought to bring you back to that damned cave for the thrill. A second helping would do you good.”
“Or to your bed.”
Severus turned a shade of red so severe that for a moment Sirius thought he was going to fall over. He opened his mouth, closed it, then swiftly turned on his heels in a move so reminiscent of Lily that Sirius couldn’t help but laugh.
“Quit your barking,” Severus muttered on the way out the infirmary.
“Wait until I have you barking, love!” Sirius joked loudly. Severus slammed the door behind him. Hated to have him go, loved to watch him walk away.
Madam Pomfrey looked to the heavens.
> At this point in time it has been three days since the start of term. Three horcruxes are destroyed, and Lily, the remaining boys, and now Severus have a few more to go. Lily has forgiven Severus in words only, and avoids him a bit still. Severus apologises to her once more, and pleads to join them to destroy the last few. Remus and Peter go on a short adventure that lands them near Peter's home in the past, because Remus was still learning the ropes a bit.
> During one of these misadventures --
Remus looked down at the young boy. He was crying in a ball against a tree — truly, this village had a bad problem with sad children. While Peter was off in the distance looking at The Sunflower House, he awkwardly waited. The cries were somewhat dampening the atmosphere.
And, damn his bleeding heart, he walked over and squatted by the kid’s side. The kid must’ve heard him, but still didn’t look up. He frowned at that — weren’t children at this age — around nine, he assumed — more excitable? He hadn’t been, sure, but he’d had a reason for that. And the kid looked normal, no scars on his legs.
And Remus could even see the hint of a golden mark on his arm even if he couldn’t see the whole picture — so there were no troubles with that either. “Are you okay?” He asked.
“No.”
Maybe it had been a stupid question.
“Do you…” He licked his lips, “Do you want to talk about it?”
The boy continued to bawl and sniffle into his knees, but it cleared up enough for him to say — “No.”
“Are you sure? I won’t judge.”
“You can’t promise that.”
Remus could, and he said as much.
“Nobody likes me,” Well that was easy. “Nobody likes to talk to me. They think I’m weird. Because…” He sniffed snottily, “I wish they did. I’d do anything.”
Oh, so it was a friendship thing. Remus had his fair share of experience in that department. He’d befriended a self-declared loner and had befriended many others prior. He had experience, if not advice, and he could work with that to achieve the latter.
“It’s okay,” He started.
“No it’s not!”
The boy still hadn’t looked up. His blonde hair glittered in the sunlight, and tears ran down his legs.
“I —“
“I know what you’re going to say,” The boy said, “Keep working at it. Keep talking to people. I’ve heard all of it! Nobody likes me so it doesn’t work, and no one will even hear what I want to say. People only like interesting stories and… people, and I live here, so ‘course I don’t have interesting stories. Everyone here is boring.”
Remus frowned. Somehow, his distracted attempt to appease a child had ended him up in somewhat of a rabbit hole. Out of sympathy, he continued. “Why are they boring?”
“They’re all muggles.”
Oh?
“I can see your wand in your hand. So I can tell you. I got my letter last week and nobody is like me here. That’s why nobody likes me, right? I…” He sniffed hard, “I just don’t get why this has to happen to me!”
Remus couldn’t understand half of what the boy was saying. His eyes flickered over to Peter, who was still looking at the sunflowers. And — that was it! Peter.
This was, what, a few years in the past? If he intervened, he could fix so many things. He could make Peter so much happier — all Peter had needed in the past was a friend.
And here was one. Right in his lap. With a conspiratory grin, he interrupted the kid’s weeping. “You’re not the only wizard in the village,” He chose to say.
It was like a gunshot the way the sniffling stopped.
“Huh?”
“There’s a boy who lives nearby. His name is Peter Pettigrew, and I heard him talking about how he wants to be your friend. All you have to do is approach him and talk to him, and I’m sure he’ll love you.”
A sharp inhale. A rattling breath. “Really? Are you sure? You’re not lying to me?”
“I have no reason to lie,” Remus lied between his teeth. “It’s the truth.” His eyes watched Peter inspect the flowers one more time before walking in his direction with huffy pursed lips. Peter’s eyes drifted to the boy beside him and he raised an eyebrow. Remus shrugged in response.
“Then… I’ll talk to him. I swear! As soon as I find him!”
“You do that.”
Remus hesitated, but pet the boy’s head. The blond hair was well looked after and felt like silk between his fingers. “And… It’ll be alright,” Remus said. “When people say that, they mean it.”
The boy didn’t reply and continued to hide his nose in his knees. He wasn’t crying anymore.
Remus gave a mellow goodbye and walked off to meet Peter. Peter frowned. “Couldn’t find it,” He said. Remus sighed, but it was what he expected. The vial dropped a droplet by their feet, and they vanished.
They left behind a soothed boy, who slowly raised his head to reveal two wet, twinkling, sky-blue eyes. The mark on his arm winked.
> While the newspapers are still wild, with Voldemort calling for his ‘opponent’ for a ‘fair show of arms.’ Severus knows the Malfoy mansion, and retrieves the diary. Lily shows worry for him, and its made clear she still cares for him a great deal. That leaves the ring.
> However in the newspapers, Remus points out that the ring is not in the house at all. And it couldn’t have been, because Voldemort is wearing it.
> Peter tries to convince his friends not to alert Dumbledore. They do it anyway. The order is alerted to the ‘possibility’ of a battle, and told coordinates. Severus sends these same coordinates to Voldemort through putting a note in the replacement diary he puts on a shelf for him. The battle is set during school hours, in a clear field in the Scottish country.
The field was too big. James was hidden in a tree, and Sirius was curled up at the base of it. Severus hid with Lily under the invisibility cloak. Remus stood by his side, in the open under the midday sun, and Peter thought back to the time he’d run away in the chamber, long ago.
He had half a thought that he was going to die. It’d make sense. Maybe he would, and maybe that scared him. He’d had hope before, but now he had something tangible. He had Remus’ hand in his. He had the really hilarious peripheral vision of James trying not to fall off a branch.
“How many minutes?” Peter asked.
“Five,” Remus replied.
“Do you think he didn’t find it?”
“Of course he did. We planted it, what, a week ago, technically? It’d have been hours after Sev took it.”
“And when are the order members coming?”
“Five minutes,” Remus replied.
“And do we still think that’s a smart decision?”
“No,” he replied, tone a bit bleak. “But I’d been told once that the order was courteous. I’d thought they’d come earlier. Scout the scene, or something.”
“And that didn’t work out,” Peter said knowingly. “And they’re gonna both arrive at the same time, aren’t they?”
“Peter I’m anxious enough as it is, mate.”
“Your ass looks amazing in those jeans.”
“Peter,” Remus said warningly.
“Real good,” Peter repeated, “dashing, even.”
“Peter.”
“Hey, if we’re gonna die I’m getting my two sickles in. Did I mention that I find your sweaters groovy?”
“Peter.”
Peter shrugged, and the wind batted at his face. The gloves proudly stood on his hands, and the wand was tucked in his pocket. Remus had his out, but Peter didn’t see the point of brandishing his own if he was nuts with it.
“I’m just saying,” Peter said, “that I don’t want my last words to be some garbage. I think your hair’s real nice too, all windswept. Cmon mate, humour me.”
After a pause, Remus looked to the heavens, and then he sighed. “Your’s… looks nice too.”
“Doesn’t it?” Peter crowed, “something about the wind. Real charming.”
“Your ass, I mean,” Remus deadpanned. “Your hair’s shite.”
“Well fuck you. You like the curve of my trousers so much, you should see what’s in it.”
“Do I, that?”
“You do,” Peter deadpanned. “They say the crappier the magic skills, the bigger the wand.”
“No one has ever said that.” A pause. “Suppose you’ll have to prove it.”
“Now?” Peter replied in a similar tone, “you want me to show my nether regions to the dark lord? You’ll have your last words be pure filth?”
“Hey you pulled me into this.” They were quiet, and then Remus whispered, “well go on, then.”
“Take my dick out?” Peter whispered back furiously. “You take out yours.”
“You don’t need to, just look at my hands.”
“Another thing no one’s ever said.”
“Hey Remus,” Peter said conversationally, “don’t suppose you know if Sev actually gave everyone coordinates or just said ‘Scottish highlands,’ do you?”
“Well Peter,” he replied, “I left it to him, and I haven’t a clue. But I see what you’re saying. I reckon the bloke’s been given a general location. Either that or he’s rude.”
“He couldn’t possibly be rude,” Peter shook his head theatrically. His heart raced in his chest.
“No chance,” Remus agreed.
Pops erupted around them. Peter jumped a foot in the air, but Remus annoyingly turned as cooly as ever to face the wave of order members. A certain mother in the crowd eyed them both and gasped. “Aren’t you two children? Goodness! Hogwarts age, you are. Why on earth are you here? You should be in school.”
“Hush, Molly,” an unfamiliar man replied. “I think they’re the ones who called us here. Hope’s kid, aren’t you?” All eyes were on the two of them, but a tall man with scars across his face was eyeing James in the tree, and the dog beneath them. Peter had no doubt Moody had found the two in the invisibility cloak already.
“You know my mum?” Remus asked.
“That I do,” the man said. “Went to school with your father. Now, I don’t suppose you have an explanation for us, do you? We were given an anonymous tip, you see. Wasn’t quite expecting my old friend’s son and,” he followed Moody’s gaze, and snorted. “His friends and dog.”
“Long story,” Peter piped in. “Don’t worry about it. Most important thing is that Vold’s coming here soon, and we have to stab his ring with a basilisk fang. Hopefully we can do him in today.”
A crowd of people gave Peter the most confused, skeptical looks Peter had somehow ever received in his life. He doubted more than one of them knew the significance of what the basilisk venom meant.
“This ain’t school, son,” Arthur Weasley said slowly. “Thing’s don’t work as well as you plan it. I’m not sure what you think is happening, but that man isn’t as easy to defeat as you’d think. This is no place for school kids. If you-know-who is really going to show up, I suggest you leave as soon as possible.”
“Now now, Arthur,” Moody said, “perhaps they know more than they let on. His ring, you say? Why his ring?”
“It’s a horcrux,” Peter said glibly, and Moody grinned like a beast possessed.
“That it is,” he replied wondrously, “that it is.”
“Don’t humour them, Moody,” Molly said, “they’re kids! I’ll take them home, how about that? Right back to Hogwarts.”
“Let them stay,” Moody replied.
“No, I don’t think I will.” She said. “I — Gideon? What’s wrong?”
“There’s an anti-apparition field up,” a red-head responded. Peter’s blood froze in his veins, and his heart pounded like a rabbit’s. Remus let go of his hand and held his wand aloft.
“He’s here.”
Peter didn’t know who said it.
But everyone had their wands out, and behind him stood a spectre in black robes. Neat hair, a cravat, an oddly inhuman face, and black eyes with nothing but malice behind them.
“How did you know?” Was what he said to the crowd of people. His eyes were on Peter, his words obviously had been heard. His voice was severe, slimy like a snake but delicate like a politician’s. His skin was white, almost porcelain under the sun.
Peter yelped like a frightened cat, and took a step behind Remus. But the man’s eyes didn’t move from his own.
Voldemort didn’t care if a group of wizards was facing him. He stalked closer, a snake before a rabbit, and even when the wands were raised higher his gaze didn’t so much as flicker. “Tell me,” he breathed, emotionless and yet threatening. “How did you know?”
“You,” he gulped. Despite his nervousness, everyone waited for him. And when he could speak, he simply said, “you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Your name, boy?”
“Peter.”
“Peter,” he said considerably, and a wand was in his hand all at once. The ring on his finger glinted in the sunlight. “Prepare to die.”
The world erupted into colour.
Hands grabbed onto his chest and yanked in to the ground. Over his head, the order charged to meet Voldemort of spells of their own. Peter lay in a daze while adults blocked spell after spell above him. Remus yanked him off the ground and pulled him in a run towards the tree, where James was already on his heels hurling spells of his own.
Lily and Severus were swallowed into the mix. Now, death eaters were mixed in their number, while only a few were able to lick at Voldemort’s robes. The figure didn’t charge after Peter, seemingly secure in firing at any soul who’d heard Peter’s admission. Panting, Peter arrived at the tree and held onto it like it was a person.
“Oh my god,” he said, “oh fuck.”
“Get your wand out,” Remus hissed, and after another hard yank a red spell blasted the hard wood Per’s head had just been leaning against. A wicked woman with flowing black hair cackled in the sunlight. Peter didn’t waste a moment to run, and pulled Remus behind him. Remus blasted spell after spell over his shoulders, and every now and then Peter used his free hand to punch at the air behind him. Rather than blast Bellatrix back, it more propelled them forward, but that worked just as well to get them to safety.
“Wand, Peter!” Remus hissed, “wand!”
“I’m not exposing myself to the dark lord!” He retorted as they sprinted.
“Peter!”
Peter let go of Remus’ hand and grabbed his wand. The world was filled with spells. Lights struck the dirt, and men and women fell left and right. They sprinted around a fiery Lily, who threw nasty curses around like a hurricane. As soon as they passed, a bright blue one hit Bellatrix square on the cheek, and she toppled to the ground.
“Get fucked!” Lily crowed, but the world grew louder.
“Boy!” Moody yelled as they passed, throwing about spells as they did, “where’s those fangs?”
“James has them!” Remus replied for him. They stopped momentarily for a breather.
“And who’s that?”
“Potter,” Peter deadpanned, and Moody spiralled around in his steps and went towards the only one of them there that could possibly pass for a Potter. “Hey Remus, why’d you give them to him again?”
“He’s very demanding,” Remus shrugged. Peter grinned.
“That he is.”
One of the figures in the mass turned around, and Voldemort smiled. Peter’s face dropped and all too soon he was running again. As someone with relatively shitty stamina, his breath was getting thin. Remus took after him like a typhoon, and yanked him towards the general direction of James, who was passing over some fangs discreetly to Moody.
Even though Voldemort seemed above the image of sprinting, his swift noble glide was just as irritatingly fast when compared to a lazy kid running. And Remus, who was noticeably faster but weirdly polite enough to slow his own pace for Peter even in the case of certain death.
“Accio, ring!” Remus called, and Voldemort scoffed. Peter also scoffed, and was suitably punished for it with a thwack on the back.
More curses were cast in their direction, and Remus threw up shields to protect himself. Peter also practiced shields; human shields whenever he encountered a death eater. That was how he managed get a couple of them indirectly.
When Peter looked over his shoulder next, he gaped. Voldemort was suckered to the side, and a fierce force forcibly yanked the ring off of his hand. The invisibility cloak fell from Moody’s shoulders, and Peter paid his respect to all powerful adults when it was sliced in half in a seamless second movement. Voldemort screeched to high heavens, and penance quickly paid, Moody fell to the ground with blood pouring out of every orifice. One of his eyes was noticeably done in for.
Then his eyes turned to Peter. Eyes deadly, blood in his teeth. Remus was nearby still, although a bit swallowed by the remaining battle, but far enough that when Peter started to sprint he was too far behind to follow. Peter ran as fast as his legs could carry him.
Through tall grass, he fought up a steep incline. The battle charged on behind them, and Peter screamed while running. Voldemort pursued. Peter cursed god. Green curses scarred the earth. But up, and up, Peter ran. He didn’t look backwards.
Like a rabbit he twirled across the grass. He punched behind himself to propel himself further. He ran so fiercely that his legs burned, that his lungs were squeezed, that he had eight stitches in every part of his body. He ran.
And then he looked to his left. And something big, purple, bubbling and fierce, opened in the sky like some sort of demigod. And Voldemort stopped too. To survey it, almost. And something struck his memory, and at the same time he gasped in realisation, a certain Ronald Weasley pulled his gloves back — isolated in the sky — and thrust forward.
And the man Tom Riddle was knocked back, his wand fell to the grass, and he plummeted down the hill that wasn’t quite a hill at all, but a cliff. And Peter stared in awe as his body savagely hit rocks, sharp and weathered. Blood poured from a man who was indeed just a man.
Voldemort was dead.
Killed.
By Ron Weasley.
> The battle is similarly (but not too similarly, for obvious reasons), concluded in Ron’s world. In Peter’s Dumbledore makes a dramatic appearance to an empty battlefield, and Peter is given the credit for killing Voldemort. Peter takes the credit.
> They go to St Mungos. During the trip, Remus reveals he’s a werewolf. Peter laughs, and tells him he knew all along.
> Life is suddenly peaceful.
Once upon a time, a girl called Mary fell down a well. Upon being reborn, as a boy this time, he decided to face the world as hopefully as possible. Only for that to quickly die in the face of reality.
And when he fell in love with a boy, it was only natural. It didn’t matter if they were soulmates or not, but they were. And Remus was perfect, and his. “And I think, sometimes, I miss her,” he said to Remus in St Mungos. “Even if I don’t see her as myself anymore. We might as well be strangers, but, you know. I knew her better than anyone else, once.”
“I think that’s only natural,” Remus said, a bit in pain. One of the particularly nasty curses had raised welts all up his legs, and he was effectively bed bound for two weeks. One week, he’d been told, for the wound to heal. The other week to recover over the shock of it all. As if Remus hadn’t had a big part in initiating it all.
“Maybe,” Peter shrugged. “But you know how it is.”
“Do you want to forget her?”
“I don’t know. She’s one of the most important people to me.”
Remus huffed a laugh. “More than me?”
“You know not more than you,” Peter said sincerely. The pure conviction in his tone made Remus’s smile soften a bit o his face. His back against the headboard made every expression incredibly visible to Peter.
“You know, Peter.”
“Yeah?”
“I think I love you.”
“Do you? That’s gay, mate.”
“A lot,” Remus pressed. “And I don’t mind if you don’t feel the same way. I think I’ve liked you for a long time, I’ve just recently come to terms with it. I’m sorry about back then, when I didn’t say it back. I think I did. I think I just couldn’t say it.”
Peter paused only for two seconds before going to straddle him on the hospital bed. “Ponce,” he said fondly. “Wanna make out?”
“Oi, get off,” Remus scolded. “My legs still hurt.”
“Yeah well I have blue balls, which hurts more.”
Remus laughed, “seriously?” But he grabbed Peter’s cheeks, and pulled him in.
Soft, warm. A bit clumsy. Peter pulled Remus’ shoulders in, and played with his hair. His lips were chapped, but they moved with natural talent. Peter melted and preened in his arms. Remus laughed through his nose fondly, and after could have been forever or no time at all, they pulled apart.
“Your eyes were open,” Peter said solemnly. “That was weird.”
“Yours were too.”
“Guess we need to practice more.”
They kissed again, but pulled apart quickly.
“I can’t believe you knew all along,” Remus said. “Seriously.”
“Hey,” Peter shrugged, “if you’d told me earlier it would have saved you the worrying. It doesn’t bother me, y’know. If anything it’s just a funny reason for your more prominent-than-other’s snail-trail.”
“When did you see that?” Remus asked.
“Hopefully soon?”
Remus snorted, but pulled him in.
> And then there is the end.
> Peter takes him to the garden to meet who he once was.
“Are you sure you’re okay with showing me?”
“I’d feel bad if I didn’t. Ah, so, where do I start? Mary liked to garden.”
“Isn’t it ‘I like’ to garden?”
“Oh no,” Peter scoffed. He walked closer to the fence around the property and Remus followed. “I fucking hate gardening.”
The fence was painted an ugly beige, flickered with dirt and debris. The fenced garden was right next to an empty plot of land, with a ‘for sale’ sign at the front. The grass was overgrown at their feet, and wild daisies licked at the fences with a passion.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“I hate gardening!” Peter grinned, and Remus grinned fondly. “It’s boring as shit! And dirt gets everywhere, and flowers aren’t really that great. Not to mention, everything dies!”
Maybe he just sucked at gardening. Not that Remus was going to voice that, he was meant to be supportive. Remus had a hunch he’d just forgotten how to over time; Peter never took to liking things he wasn’t good at.
Peter continued. “I told myself I liked gardening so much that I convinced myself I really did! Since I was reborn, you know, I got straight to work. I did it because when I was Mary I liked it, and my mum liked it too. It built a connection, it helped me become more like the construct of ‘Mary.’ Even though we’re the same person, technically. Kind of. Not really.”
“But you actually hate it?”
“Every time I see a worm I feel my soul leave my body. Flowers? Not my thing, but they’re okay. As Mary I liked them but as me now, I only really like sunflowers and I guess that’s because I have some sort of cosmic obligation to.”
He winked. “Good on that, aye?”
“Ha! But really, I liked to garden as Mary. And then one day she went outside to brood over her problems, when she found a well. She fell and as you know, the next thing I know, I’m three years old as Peter Pettigrew in some book series I read as a kid.”
Remus blinked. And then blinked again. “Oh.”
“Oh?”
“To be fair, love, you told me this before back at Mungo’s.” He kindly smiled at Peter. “It just worries me a bit about how you tell it, now that we’re here.”
“What?”
“Did she fall?” Or did she choose to jump?
“She did,” it sounded matter of fact. “Maybe. And I know that she did. Because as Mary, I’d never really lost hope that things would improve.”
Remus surveyed the plants peaking out of the side of the fence. The neighbourhood was very quiet; not a soul was outside. It was just the two of them. By now, time had become as easy to traverse as a door leading to the bathroom. They’d seen so many Ledd Zeppelin concerts together. Sirius was a terrible influence.
“I remember thinking, ‘it’ll be over soon. And they’ll be sorry.’ Very pleasant, of course. Don’t know who the hell ‘they’ are, nor do I care. But I was leaning over and wondering how deep it was, and I leaned close and I was saying do it! Do it! You just gotta let go!”
Peter seemed to be staring nowhere, and his mouth was in a bitter sort of smile. Remus stood closer and awkwardly held his wrist again, to give some sort of comfort.
“And then the next thing I know, like I said, I woke up. And maybe I was the one to finally tilt down but maybe it was just bad, shit grip and luck. I don’t know. And I'm okay with that.”
“You could look now,” Remus suggested. “You chose that day, didn’t you?”
“That’ll do more harm than good,” Peter replied knowingly. “Nah, I think I’m okay just letting it be a mystery.”
“I wonder how you ended up as... you.” Remus sighed. It was the only thing he hadn’t worked out yet. It didn’t make any sense.
“Who knows.” He laughed, and then he fondly grabbed Remus’s hand. “You know what the funny part is?”
“Mm?”
“I actually don’t remember what she was so upset about. I think I did once, but it’s genuinely been so long ago that I don’t remember. Something to do with school, maybe. Maybe her mum. I don’t know. I don’t know if anything was ever serious to begin with. I’ve just forgotten. But even then, she matters to me. Do you think that’s dumb?”
Remus snorted. “You’ve asked me before. My answer’s the same; I think it’s only natural you care. You’re just that kind of person; you’ve always been too caring for your own good.” He smiled. “You’ve always been a kind person.”
“I’ll go back,” Remus said.
Peter watched Remus disappear. He absently procured his gloves, and carefully walked around the fence to a familiar loose panel. When he was Mary, he used to use it to sneak out to go to the park when his mama wasn’t looking. Peter couldn’t hear anything from the garden, so he carefully pushed it to the side and squeezed into the garden.
It was massive. Nostalgia crawled at him, but he didn’t stop to look over the flowers and bushes and trees. He didn’t look over the worn path made of old stones that used to line the driveway of the house when they first moved in.
Shadows peeled towards the back door of the house. There were no windows that let the residents inside see to the backyard. No witnesses.
Peter wandered through the yard. It was truly ginormous, which was partially why the discovery of the well had been so thrilling. It had been yet another secret uncovered. His footsteps were silent, no twigs snapped as he stepped on them. He slipped the gloves on one by one.
At the very back of the garden, he watched Mary pick at a wooden slab with a shovel. She peeled it back and an odd noise echoed as an old well was revealed. She peered down curiously, and unabashedly scooted closer. She shoved the wooden slab away, which hit the stone footpath with a hollow thud. Mould grew across it. The entrance of the well was wide, and it looked very deep. Peter watched from behind her.
“I fucking hate them,” he could hear her whispering. He could remember this moment perfectly. He could remember this, even if he couldn’t remember the events tat pushed her to this. He knew it so well, he’d played it over so many times in his head, that he could almost perfectly mouth the words along with her. “I fucking hate them! They’re all so mean. So mean, and I don’t know why! What’s wrong with me? What? Why won’t anyone tell me?”
Peter edged closer and closer, until he was standing right behind her. Her shadow covered his body, and he looked down at her hunched posture. She seemed to hesitate, but then shook her head and moved to dangle her feet down the well so that her feet were touching the dark stone interior.
“I wish it would end,” Mary admitted quietly to herself. “I’m so tired. They should all fuck themselves. I hate them all. I hate them all! So, so much. No matter what I do, or what I say...!”
It was quiet, then. A very soft wind trickled into the garden, and Peter watched as Mary’s grip on the edge of the well loosened. A gloved hand carefully reached into his pocket and retrieved a vial. Mary’s posture slumped. Peter heard sniffling.
“If I survive this,” Mary said in a very sad, low voice, “I’ll become a better person.”
He shoved.
Mary was thrust over the corner of the well by a harsh gust of wind, and in the same movement Peter emptied the vial over her head. There was a crack, a gruesome thud, and the sound of shattering glass.
He didn’t look down. He simply turned around to the loose fence panel, and walked away.