The Marauders: Year Six #Wattys2017

I Won't Forget You

I Won't Forget You

"IT'S BECAUSE OF YOU SHE'S MAD, YOU'RE THE ONE THAT COULDN'T CARE FOR HER! YOU'RE THE ONE THAT DIDN'T PROTECT HER! YOU'RE THE ONE THAT'S TO BLAME! EVER SINCE WE FOUND OUT SHE WAS A SQUIB YOU CARED FOR HER LESS ---"

"THAT'S ABSOLUTE RUBBISH! YOU'RE THE ONE THAT CARED LESS FOR HER THAN YOU DID THE BOY, YOU'RE THE ONE --"

"MAGGIE WAS MY LITTLE GIRL! I LOVED MAGGIE MORE THAN ANYTHING ELSE, MORE THAN ANYTHING ELSE, CECIL!"

Peter covered his ears and closed his eyes, and transformed into a rat, squeaking in agony as he shrank from his round shape into the grey fur ball, his tail wrapped about himself, hugging it as though it were a comfort to him to hold it close to his chest. Tears - hot and stinging - ran over his whiskers.

This had happened the day before his birthday, too. And three days before that, when Cecil had come home late from work for the third time in a week. And the Monday prior, too, and several over times over the summer since the day Cecil Pettigrew had gotten up and walked out of the kitchen, the night that Remus, Sirius, James, and Lily had been caught flying a motorcar. Ever since, Peter had sat about praying that they would come for him in that motorcar and drive him away.

But they never came.

And he'd written letters to James and Sirius at the Potter's house without a reply. He'd sent owls to the castle in Iceland to Remus and got no reply...

It was the morning of Peter's birthday - his sixteenth birthday - that his parents had this fight - fierce and terrible, so loud that the floorboards seemed to shake with their voices - and he decided to get out of the house. They'd never notice, he told himself, and so, transformed, he ran across his carpet, climbed up and out the window and slid down through the drain pipe to the ground and scampered across the grass, through a hole in the gate and down the road a way before he transformed back into himself. One of his shoes was untied as he ran, and he realized there was no where to go in the village where he lived, so he stuck out his wand arm and the purple Knight Bus arrived to sweep him away.

It was in this way that Peter Pettigrew ended up alone, sitting outside of Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlour in Diagon Alley that evening, eating a cup of butterbeer ice cream with sprinkles, feeling quite sorry for himself (and looking quite sorry for himself, too). He softly sucked on his spoon and sighed a very heavy sigh, staring down at the melting ice cream and moved the pink spoon about, mixing the sprinkles right in...

Suddenly the green metal chair beside him pulled back and a man sat in the seat. A very plain man with dark eyes and a bit of a smirk to his face. He stared at Peter for a long moment and Peter shifted uncomfortably, taking up his cup and spoon and he moved to get up and the man said, "Peter, stay, talk with me a while."

"How - how do you know my name?" he asked.

"Oh we've met before," the man replied, and he smiled in a sort of friendly way at Peter and he patted Peter's shoulder. "But you don't recognize me, do you?"

Peter shook his head.

"I shouldn't expect you to," the man said. He smiled. There was something about the way he spoke that reminded Peter of somebody, though he couldn't quite place who it was. He sort of drew out his words and said them in a regal sort of tone, as though everything he had to say was of high importance. He held his chin quite higher than average people and looked down the length of his nose at Peter.

Peter stared up at him.

"It's your birthday, isn't it Peter?" asked the man, and without waiting for a reply, he said, "Happy Birthday. You're sixteen, aren't you?"