Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to the amazing creator of all things Harry Potter, JK Rowling. I just borrow her ideas.

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Bittersweet Memories

"What happened to us, Peter?" The darkness seemed to whisper, an eerie lament that flew out of the shadows on the wings of death. "We were once so young, and innocent. I remember happiness, Peter. What did you do to us?"

"We were friends," he told it quietly. "Friends. A beautiful friendship – beautiful, always beautiful… I treasure your beauty, your memory, every day, I do."

A feeble promise to an empty night… The words carried across the still room and disappeared into the inky blackness that forever threatened to enclose upon him.

Peter grappled with these people every night. He had done his best; he had tried to save them. But they had preferred to die for a cause that was lost. They had preferred to abandon him. His fists clenched involuntarily beneath the flimsy, moth-eaten blanket.

"You are beautiful, but you are empty. No one could die for you."

Peter whimpered into the dark, gazing up, as he had many times before, into the great, green, almond shaped eyes of his recurring dream. He felt his own eyes fill with poisonous tears, and spitefully wiped them away as they slashed at his cheeks.

"But… But I tried to save you," he protested weakly. "I… I loved you! I loved you like my family!"

A gingery eyebrow arched in distaste. "Love? You know nothing of love, Peter."

Her voice was grave, and terrible. "You know nothing of the love of a family. You deserve to know nothing of that love."

Peter's pitiful whimpers increased. "You… you were my family," he pleaded. "I tried to save us… I tried to save you."

"You dare to say you betrayed us in the name of love, Wormtail?"

A new voice, a new face, was added to this nightmare.

"You betrayed our son in the name of love?"

Peter nodded weakly. "I betrayed your son, yes… but not you, James, never you!"

"He is our flesh and blood, Peter." The first voice returned, bending over him to whisper those haunting words into his ear. "You betrayed him; you betrayed us. You are not worthy of our love, Peter…You are not a worthy keeper of our memories. You never were."


Writhing on the bed, the man covered his ears, moaning. His eyes were squeezed tight, in a feeble attempt to block out the ghosts that haunted his dreams. He hated those ghosts even as he loved them. Whatever they were to him, they, his precious memories, were all he had left.

"I am worthy. I am beautiful. I am good," he repeated his mantra, his voice quick and low as he hurried over the syllables.

"You had beauty, Wormtail," the second voice told him, bending beside him. "But now, it is twisted, tainted with bitterness and loss."

"It is not beautiful to be consumed with hate and anger, Peter…"

The voices were fading, the spirits dissipating, the memories silenced…


Peter Pettigrew lived for dawn, for the freedom from the night, from the people who haunted his dreams. He peered through the scrappy curtain, and breathed a sigh of relief as the first rays cast their warming glow on his face.

The door to his dingy little bedroom sprung open, and a man with a hooked nose peered inside. Peter had come to resent that nose.

"You're up."

Snape seemed neither surprised, nor pleased. Thick, dark circles denoted his deep-set eyes, indicating yet another sleepless night on his behalf, too. Peter stood shakily and made his way forward.

"No sleep?" he asked timidly, throwing on a shirt.

Snape raised a mocking brow, and Peter winced, reminded of another person long lost to this earth.

"No sleep," Snape echoed dully, before sweeping out of the room.

Peter pulled back the curtain fully now, and watched as the light began to wind its way through the desolate, sinister streets of Spinners End.

Dawn was never much, but it always brought the promise of a few hours of peace. And it was for these few hours, free of conscience with Snape, that Peter lived, despite the fact that Snape always did his best to undermine him. Peter couldn't resent Snape. Deep down, he knew, they were both the same, exiled to this betrayer's paradise. A lonely existence made a little brighter by company, whatever that company was.

It could certainly never be friendship. The word made Peter tremble in fear. Friendship, he had learnt, was a terrible thing. Friendship caused him nothing put pain, and those memories would unfailingly return to haunt him at his most vulnerable. Friendship, Peter had since decided, was terribly over rated. He could decide that now, with the light of day to banish those lingering impressions of his past life.

Friendship could not spare him from the pain of his past. It did not warm him at night, as he lay alone in the darkness, with nothing for company but his thoughts and his bittersweet memories.

"What happened to us, Peter?"

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A/N: This story was written for the May Quote Challenge in the Reviews Lounge Forum. In some way, shape or form, we had to use a quote from St. Exupéry's 'Le Petit Prince'The Little Prince"Vous êtes belles, mais vois êtes vides... On ne peut pas mourir pour vous."

Roughly translated, it means, "You are beautiful, but you are empty. No one could die for you."

It is at this point that I would like you to note that so far as I have interpreted it, beautiful refers to the beauty in one's soul: specifically in Peter's case, the beauty that was once within his soul. Let me acknowledge that in canon, Wormtail is an ugly, twisted, pathetic little man, and I will not and can not dispute this fact.

Anyway, I hope you liked this! It's a little different, I know, but I quite like it all the same. If you have time, drop by the Reviews Lounge forum. If you're interested in taking up the challenge yourself, please do so! It is open to anyone who is interested; just let us know when it's finished!

Reviews are always appreciated, and thanks for reading xx Lexie.