Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling does.

A/N: This was written for the August Starters contest, in the Reviews Lounge. Anyway, I was inspired to write this after reading another lovely one-shot, titled, “Bittersweet Memories,” written by Lexie-H. It isn’t the same, simply inspired me to write this one.

Some of the quotes I used in this story I took directly from Half-Blood Prince, US Hardcover Edition, pages 23 and 24. Please review, and if you like this story, check out my others as well! For those of you who are reading my other story, Searching for Love, I apologize for the wait. I hope this should hold you up.

Please do review. If you like other people reviewing your stories, then I strongly suggest you do the same for others:-)

A Hero’s Remorse

-------------------------------------------

It wasn't supposed to happen. And now, where am I? I lay on a moldy old cot in Snivelly’s house on Spinner’s End, only leaving it to service Death Eaters with elf-made wine.

---------------------------

“As you have clearly realized, Wormtail, we have guests,” said Snape in his usually cold, monotonous tone. I despised the man, ever since my younger years at Hogwarts. My friends and I shared many laughs over the greasy-haired Slytherin. My friends. The friends that I had clung onto so desperately, and managed to lose them…all on my own. The friends that had stuck by my side, strong and carefree over the years, sharing each others hopes and dreams. Three best friends, which anyone else would have been more than willing to die for. And yet—I didn’t.

I looked back up at Snape, the man I had tasted such an utter distaste and loathing for, I couldn’t help but sneer. Guests. We have guests? I slowly crept up the stairs, curious, though an unpleasant simper said otherwise. It was Narcissa Malfoy and her younger sister, Bellatrix Lestrange. I hastily concealed a sneer before placing my hands, the silver and the human together. “Narcissa!” I said, in an unusually squeaky voice. “And Bellatrix! How charming—”

“Wormtail will get us drinks, if you’d like them,” said Snape coldly. “And then he will return to his bedroom.” I grimaced naturally, always feeling the hate boil within myself as he spoke his words with contempt, icy as always. I will always despise Severus Snape, whether it is the way he carried himself about, or his not-so-charming disposition. Severus Snape will always be an enemy.

With what small amount of courage I had left in myself, I spoke up. “I am not your servant!” I said wheezy, my voice squeaking unusually high again. My eyes boring into his with utter loathsome. I could still remember clearly James and Sirius telling me, years ago not to let ‘Snivelly’ as we used to call him, boss me around. The last time I spoke to Snape in this tone of voice, I had received a detention for cutting class. All the same, I didn’t look into his beady black eyes, the ones that I had grown to hate, even more so now than ever.

“Really? I was under the impression that the Dark Lord placed you here to assist me.” He said silkily, his eyebrows rose indignantly as he spoke.

“To assist, yes—but not to make you drinks and—and clean your house!” I said, my eyes shining with revulsion and hate as Snape interjected once again, this time mid sentence.

“I had no idea, Wormtail, that you were craving more dangerous assignments,” he said coolly, a smug look crossing his hideous face. “This can be arranged: I shall speak to the Dark Lord--”

“I can speak to him myself if I want to!”

“Of course you can,” he continued, sneering at me. “But in the meantime, bring us drinks. The elf-made wine will do.” I glared one last time, before considering my options. I could argue again, where Snape would most likely contact Voldemort, something that I didn’t need happening at this moment. Or, I could shut my mouth and do as he says, no matter how much I despised it. As usual, I chose the latter, storming away as I poured the blood red wine for the two Black sisters and Snape, before storming back into my bedroom.

I snorted, slamming the door behind me. If this excuse of a bed, could be called my bedroom. I collapsed onto the moldy, moth eaten bed, pulling on the weak fibers of the blanket, my body sore and tired. I ran a hand through my light brown hair, rubbing my bloodshot, watery eyes. Leaning over, I pulled something from the uncomfortable mattress of my bed.

It was a photograph of James, Sirius, Remus, and I. The four Marauders. James and Sirius were dead center, of course, always the leading attractions of the group, both handsome and smiling broadly through the photo. Remus, his face serene, although he was seventeen, looked five years his senior. Then there was myself, standing next to James, short and insignificant, and my face obviously not as handsome as the others, and definitely not as charming. But they were my friends, through and through.

Three very different friends.

There was Sirius Black, the charming womanizer. His handsomely carved face, a face which he liked to joke, was ‘brought from the heavens above’. He was a happy soul, full of laughter and wit. Of course, with such a handsome face, and debonair persona, what woman would want to keep their hands off of such a man? Exactly the point. None. Besides Lily Evans, and a handful of young women at Hogwarts, all other girls managed to get into his pants at one point or another. He was the most adventurous of the group, every evening planning yet another diabolical plan to somehow embarrass Severus Snape. Even girls that had broken up with him through the nastiest of brawls could not resist his everlasting charm. To most, he was what the American women liked to call an asshole.

Then there was Remus Lupin, the bookworm. He was handsome, well of course he was handsome; all the Marauders were, except for myself of course, despite what my friends insisted. Although irrevocably timid and studious, he took part Sirius and James’s pranks resulting in detentions. Even he, being as shy as he was, managed to obtain several long term girlfriends throughout the years—most respectably nice and intelligent. Overall, he was a great person, despite his, ‘furry little problem’ as James liked to call it.

James Potter, the platonic friend. The friend who stood by the four of us, no matter what. He was brave, more than I could ever fathom being—he had even gone as far to save Snivelly’s life in fifth year when Sirius told him to go into the Whomping Willow during one of his painful transformations. He was handsome, most handsome in our class, next to Sirius of course, his stunning smile threatening to blind the school’s population. Almost as much as Sirius, James liked to dip around with different girls of our grade. Of course, with the exception of Lily Evans, who, until our seventh year had refused blindly to even look at him. Eventually, as always though, James got what he wanted. True happiness.

We left Hogwarts at the age of seventeen, seven years of magical education flowing through our veins. The school, which for the past seven years so many things of importance had occurred between me and my friends. It was the place where we had discovered that Remus was indeed a werewolf, turning ourselves into illegal animagi to help him through his transformations. It was the place where James, Sirius, Remus, and I had been transformed into the Marauders; Prongs, Padfoot, Moony, and myself, Wormtail. It was the place, the only place that I had found real friends.

We went off into the world, careless, free and in love. Well, at least James and Lily were, for that matter. No sooner than six months after Hogwarts had been over, Lily and James were engaged—and soon to be married. Padfoot was the best man—obviously—him being the one that knew James the best. It was a blissful affair. Not too many months later, a secret organization was formed by Dumbledore, called the Order of the Phoenix. A dark wizard in rising was slowly taking over the wizarding world, taking the lives of countless wizards and witches. Lord Voldemort, the man called himself, rounding up pure-blooded followers, calling them Death Eaters. It was a gruesome thought—with so many deaths, but the only thing seeming to carry me through the day was my friends, Sirius, James, Remus, and Lily, as well.

But just as I began to thought that time couldn’t get worse, they did. I was cornered by his death eaters. They threatened to kill me, if I didn’t join their ranks. I didn’t know what to do. Bravery was something I never withheld in myself. James did, as did Sirius, and even Remus. But I? I, being the one to be courageous. I didn’t want to die. My life was just beginning, not even twenty yet. I wasn’t ready to die, was I? Should I have? Hindsight, as they say, is twenty-twenty.

As I slowly transformed into one of them, my friends began to notice the differences. “Alright, Wormtail?” asked a concerned James, one day. I told him I was fine, despite the throbbing in my left forearm. I lied to him. Told him everything was fine, and that he shouldn’t have been worrying so profusely. Could they have helped me, even if I did tell the truth? What would be the consequences of my actions? Would there be? Could I live a double life? I was soon due to find out.

They were talking. Voldemort had heard that a prophesy had been created about him and a child, born as the seventh month dies, with parents whom had thrice defied Voldemort. This child, withholding the power to destroy him. This information did not suit him well and immediately set out to destroy the child. Fear coursed through my veins. I knew of only two couples that had thrice defied the Dark Lord; Alice and Frank Longbottom, and my friends, James and Lily.

At first, my nerves were calmed, knowing that James and Lily were not having a child—so I needn’t worry, I thought so foolishly. Then, later that night, my worst fears were condemned; Lily was pregnant. I counted the months, frantically hoping that she wouldn’t be due at the end of July. But no matter how many times I counted, the outcome was the same. Either the Longbottom’s or James and Lily’s son or daughter would be the ‘chosen one’. The worst part of the whole situation was that I couldn’t tell Lily or James any of this, without being killed by the Dark Lord, giving up my position as the spy.

Then, on the night of July 31st, Harry James Potter was born. He was a spitting image of James, only with Lily’s emerald eyes, glowing. They handed him to me after he was cleaned up. I held the baby in my trembling arms, knowing that I would be the cause of his demise. Guilt rushed through me, feigning a smile as I handed the child back to James, a familiar searing pain traveling up my left forearm. The god damn Dark Mark.

Apparently, as time went on, I slowly realized that Dumbledore knew. If Dumbledore knew, then they were safe. Wouldn’t they be? They concealed their home in Godric’s Hollow with the Fidealus Charm, so that only the secret keeper would be able to give up their location. I wasn’t the secret keeper, so I could keep Voldemort happy, by telling him the location, but it would keep Lily and James safe all the same. Sirius was godfather to Harry, so I wasn’t surprised when they had chosen Sirius as secret keeper. For the first time in months, I was at peace with myself.

Unfortunately, Sirius had other things in mind. He had a plan, a perfect bluff. Secretly switching Secret Keepers at the last moment. That way—he thought that Voldemort would be blindsided, by switching the secret keeper to me. Everyone knew that Sirius and James were best mates, and he would automatically assume that he was the secret keeper. I couldn’t refuse the position; they had entrusted me with their lives. Even if I didn’t tell the Dark Lord; he was an accomplished Legimens. He would find out either way…I could not stop the inevitable.

Voldemort took the information from me, taking it upon him to find Godric’s Hollow and murder the youngest Potter, willing to kill the others if necessary. I was terrified. I awaited his return, praying that he would be furious—that he couldn’t have found any of them—that they would be alright. But he didn’t come back. Instead, it was Sirius Black, his face contorting in fury.

“Peter—you…you—…” he shook his wand menacingly in my direction staring into my eyes with contempt. I kne/w at he was going to do. He was going to murder me. I didn’t expect anything better or less. I was the cause of his best mate’s family’s death. “Lily or James is dead now—you—you bloody bastard, how could you…?”

In that single moment, I still knew…my time had come. There was nothing I could do—except perhaps reverse the situation. “Sirius!” I yelled as loud as my voice could travel throughout the Muggle street. “Lily and James trusted you! How could you!” I continued, regretfully ignoring the look of disgust on his face, beginning to rip at my insides. “You betrayed them Sirius!” I shouted, taking advantage of the fact that Sirius’s wand was already drawn. Mine behind my back, I muttered a dark curse exploding the whole street into smithereens. I transformed into my rat form, scurrying away so that the Aurors would blame everything on Sirius.

In my rat form, I ran off behind a tree, realizing that my finger had been missing. A small price to pay compared to the hell I was going to be destined to live. I watched the look of incredulity as he realized what I had done. I couldn’t bear to look anymore as the Aurors came, stunning Sirius, hearing them discussing how shocking it was for Sirius Black, of all people, to betray the Potters. I watched, timid and scared as more aurors began picking up the bodies. I counted. Thirteen muggles. But including Lily and James, it was fifteen. I had become a murderer.

For the next twelve years, I lived a hidden life. In my rat form, I was taken into the Weasley family, passed down from child to child, as each one left for school. Ronald Weasley, the second to youngest child, had always wanted an owl, from what I could understand, and was immensely disappointed to receive me, a mere rat. I accompanied him on the trip to Hogwarts.

Over the next couple of years, I became his pet. Although I had not directly been introduced, I met his two best friends. Hermione Granger, a witty, intelligent muggleborn, and to my utter shock and surprise, Harry Potter. Lily and James’s son. Sirius’s godson.

He was so much like the three of them. Harry had James’s good looks and quidditch skills, he had Lily’s green eyes and explosive personality, and most of all, and he had the unnervingly familiar glint of adventure that I used to see in Sirius. For two years I watched the miniature version of my friends grow along with the Weasley boy. They had become the best of friends. Once the third year came around though, well, it was a different story.

Sirius Black, the ‘supposed murderer’ of thirteen muggles, along with Lily and James Potter, had broken out of Azkaban. My old friend. Remus Lupin, my other old friend, took up the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. He had thought me to be dead. Harry had also, in his third year, discovered the Marauders Map, something that my friends and I had created at Hogwarts. Sirius and Remus had discovered me, with a vengeance, Sirius wanted to commit the murder that he had been imprisoned for. In other words, he was going to kill me.

But Harry intervened, telling them that James wouldn’t have wanted me dead. He would have wanted me to serve my sentence. But I escaped, when I could. I was on the run, and free again, but created the strongest bond between two wizards. I owed my life to James Potter’s son.

Almost two years have gone by, and I have done nothing to help Harry. I had done so little, in fact, that I was beginning to be part of his downfall. With reason, it was also I who had nursed the Dark Lord himself to power. Sirius is dead. He was murdered by that hideous Black woman I had been forced to smile at just moments ago. My past—the past that I had longed to hold onto for so long was dissipating, slowly being overpowered by the present.

We had always talked of it—being friends after Hogwarts. We would have sent our children off together, all growing up to be best mates. Our wives standing dutifully by our sides. Sirius’s wives apparently surrounding him in flocks. It was always his little joke, which we would all laugh about, none knowing that it would in no way occur. I think about James, Sirius, and Remus, whenever I get lonely, wishing I could take back all the horrid things I’ve done—just to see their happy faces smiling back at me. Only in the memories.

It wasn't supposed to happen. And now, where am I? I lay on a moldy old cot in Snivelly’s house on Spinner’s End, only leaving it to service Death Eaters with elf-made wine.

There is nothing I can do at the moment to help Harry. No matter which way I turn, I am at fault. I can’t go back to the Order, none wanting to hear my side of the story. I can’t turn to the Death Eaters, obviously, without giving up my position. ‘Face it like a man,’ Sirius had once told me, many years ago. Well, Sirius…I am…to the best of my ability. Courage or not—I know that someday—somehow, my time will come. I will help Harry. And when that day comes, whether or not death takes my meaningless life into its abyss, I know I will finally be accepted by my friends for what I have always longed to be.

A hero.