Character: Peter Pettigrew.
Notes: This is a freeverse poem in memory of Peter Pettigrew, a believer. I am in love with this, so I hope you enjoy!
You were a child once,
lovable and shy and loyal.
Children g^r^o^w up.
Hearts grow black.
Sometimes, shyness peters out.
You were more than the traitor
and more than the friend
you were Peter Pettigrew,
in your own way, you were brilliant.
Maybe you could always believe
and say that you were just as perfect
as J-a-m-e-s P-o-t-t-e-r;
just as handsome
as S-i-r-i-u-s B-l-a-c-k;
just as intelligent
as R-e-m-u-s L-u-p-i-n,
and not just as boring as Peter Pettigrew.
But really, you were powerful -
in your own special way.
You were cheerful, supportive, and spiteful,
and you were brave, loyal,
and quick-witted, clever, and scathing,
and in the end,
your pros, and your cons,
You weren't always the bad guy
and for some reason,
that's something they all seem to forget.
Because children aren't born evil;
Cowards don't play at playgrounds
and sinners don't buy lollipops.
You don't get on the express train
to be bought by the Devil.
Maybe if they'd paid more attention to you
(that's right, go and blame it on them)
or if the professors had tried harder
(what if YOU
had tried harder, hmm?)
or if Mary McDonald hadn't turned you down
(sweet little Mary was doing the
then you might've turned out alright.
You doubted it.
You doubted them all.
Because what did Pettigrews do best?
You believed perfect Padfoot&Prongs
- crack -
and morose Moony
- snap -
and lovely Lily
- ! -
When they told you that you were more than
their fifth wheel
- "Oops" -
But you were Fifth-Wheel-Wormtail.
You just didn't expect the car to
- crash! -
Your si/de was empty;
and your pretentious belief that your bravery was
Thing is -
you were seventeen years old.
You had your wHole lifE aheAd, eVery yEar remaiNing,
waiting for you.
aDrENALIne rushing through your veins
(confusing, gnisufnoc - lla dexim pu)
it ended on the day you turned
And suddenly -
you were eighteen years old.
You had your doubts; thousands and thousands,
You weren't so invincible.
Never were, come to that.
Alone and u˅p˅s˅i˅d˅e d^o^w^n -
you were nineteen years old.
You had your friends and your enemies and - wait, what?
They were the same?
Well, Peter, you knew how to run.
Just then -
you were twenty years old.
Look at that; the mask fits!
Don't you feel like Cinderella
- shhh -
your filthy Muggle father can stay a secret for now.
And finally -
you were twenty one years old.
Victory was sweet; you remember thinking,
but not as sweet as
Maybe you were a bit "delddum",
and pain was a bit too b-b-bitter.
You were a child once;
but the Devil called and you answered
(your first mistake)
and your heart started to shrivel
Your life was like the climax of a car crash,
and your power petered out,
in the end,
because loyalties change -
and they were stuck,
trying to believe.