The Muggle Who Did Something: A marauders era fanfiction

Chapter 8: Growing Old

Peter Pettigrew awoke in a small pool of his own drool.

He pushed himself up off the table, feeling his back pop in multiple places as he did so. Peter groaned as he moved. The boy felt much too old to be sleeping anywhere other than his own bed at this moment. He looked around the abandoned Library, both his friends were gone. He'd been left alone, again.

Peter felt something settle in the pit of his stomach, something he really didn't like. His friends cared. They had to care....right? He tried to shake the negative feeling away, tightening the hold he had on himself. It was only then that he noticed the old moth eaten blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

He looked down at the faded blue piece of fabric with a mixture of feelings. First was disgust, because this blanket was hardly recognizable as such. It was so threadbare that not even his Mum would use scrap pieces of it for cleaning. Even still, he tightened his hold on the smelly thing. It was no doubt from Remus, the guy really forgot how good he was at magic sometimes, but at least one of his friends had thought of him.

The youngest Marauder was pulled from his thoughts when his stomach growled loudly. The young man pushed himself away from the table and slowly made his way down to the kitchen. He stifled a yawn as he walked, still holding the blanket closely wrapped around himself.

When Peter reached the kitchen he noted that James and Lily were no longer here, probably long gone. The young man walked over to the counter, spying a small plate of food steaming under a stasis charm and a newspaper beside it.

The smell made Peter's mouth water. Oh how he truly loved food! This plate was a simple but lovely breakfast of eggs, sausage and toast as well as a lovely cup of tea. It sat innocently before him, but being a Marauder made him pause.

Peter closed his eyes and carefully sniffed the food. Most people just assumed he enjoyed smelling his food, but they would be wrong. He could pick out the spices used in the sausage, a lovely combination, but more of an afternoon sausage in his opinion. The toast was only lightly crisped, but heavily buttered. The eggs had been cooked a little longer than he'd do himself, but he couldn't pick out anything suspicions about them. He easily could tell that someone used fresh cream to cut the tea, just how he preferred. It really was a lovely plate.

This was Peter's skill. This was his element, though it didn't do much to help the war effort, he still took a small amount of pride in it. Over the years most of the Marauder's food based pranks had been heavily inspired by himself. He could usually tell when someone had messed with a meal just by the smell, something further improved by his own animagus form. Being a marauder required a certain sense of self preservation, one he had developed, not that many knew that.

Peter had been able to warn his friends of other people's counter pranks on many occasions, causing the other marauders to wait for him to start eating before they did. It was a silent communication. He would inspect the food, and if he ate it then they knew he hadn't found anything unusual.

However, he'd also been the one to 'test' most of their food based pranked, allowing them to make the most undetectable concoctions over the years. It was a double edged sword, but one he would happily wield for his friends. It was the least he could do.

Peter smiled fondly and the youthful memories he'd just relived. Oh how he wished to go back to such simple times. He shook the childish thought away, it would only sour his morning. Instead the dusty blonde gazed down at the food fondly, only just now noticing a small folded piece of paper folded under the tea cup.

He lifted the cup, and removed the paper. Unfolding it, his eyes glided across the familiar scribble.

'Mornin' Pete,