I

The small cottage housed only two inhabitants, a young, hardworking mother and her only child. The widow’s husband had passed away shortly after the baby’s birth.

The cottage was cloaked mostly with the colours of nature. Its exterior was wrapped in green vines with bright flowers. One of the seldom places there wasn’t vegetation were the windows, which were tinted with a light sea-coloured blue. The plants had grown there over a great length of time, but Elizabeth Pettigrew had come to like them. Her new job at the Daily Prophet kept her busy, so even if she didn’t like the flowers surrounding her house, there was little she could do about it.

The inside of the house had a warm feeling to it. A homey feeling. It consisted mostly of dull browns and soft blues. The contrast of colours might have looked odd at first, but the sight had grown on the two Pettigrews.

It was a small cottage, with only a living room, a kitchen, two bedrooms, and a bathroom. It wasn’t that they couldn’t afford a larger place, but instead that Elizabeth didn’t want a large house. She preferred her cottage to a regular-sized house any day.

Peter was always rosy with optimism. Mostly, he enjoyed the brightly coloured Muggle blocks his mother had bought him. He kept himself busy, while his mother was at work, by playing with his blocks. Peter didn’t have much interest in the other kids at his Wizarding Day Care when he was younger.

The other kids would often cry from missing their parents, in most cases their mum. But Peter knew his own mum would come back for him. By the way she showered him with presents and toys, he knew she cared greatly for him. After all, he was all she had left.

II

Peter’s profile was stained yellow with fear. He stood stock still in the line of first years, waiting to be sorted.

His new black robes hung loosely over his shoulders, his chestnut hair dripping slightly with water. Luckily, the storm had hit when they had been walking into the castle, instead of when they were crossing the lake. Peter’s knees and teeth shook with a mind of their own, both from the effect of the cold and anxiety.

From the latter, his palms grew sticky with dry sweat. His eyes remained locked on a black haired boy who seemed to be having a long internal discussion with the Sorting Hat. Vaguely, he remembered the Professor calling him Black.

With a small shred of optimism left from his toddler days, he thanked Merlin that there was still thirteen letters separating him from his journey to the front of the school.

The boy was sorted into Gryffindor, which aroused many startled murmurs from the students, but Peter was too distraught to pay attention to other students being sorted. He could only focus on how many letters remained between Pettigrew and the latest victim of the Sorting Hat.

Yet, after Thomas Osmer was sorted into Hufflepuff, Peter slowly made his way towards the stool. With each step he took, his face seemed to turn a deeper shade of red with embarrassment.

III

Peter excitedly followed Sirius, James and Remus towards the front of the room, his insides jittery with excitement. He watched as the three boys in front of him signed the parchment, their eager emotions showing just as strongly as his own.

The room was an extra classroom, with several unused desks and supplies scattering its perimeter. It had a decent coat of dust across almost all its surfaces from neglect of the house elves. Why should they clean a room that wasn’t used? But now the small classroom housed a small group of people, the majority of them Hogwarts seventh and sixth years.

Orange from excitement, Peter didn’t hesitate to sign the parchment to join the war. It almost made him feel acknowledged that Dumbledore had selected him to be a part of what he had called the Order of the Phoenix. This time, it wasn’t because he was a Marauder, or because he was friends with the other three, but because Dumbledore trusted his abilities. After seven years of Hogwarts, he finally felt like he was being recognized as an individual.

And Peter didn’t plan on letting anyone down.

The four returned to their table while the small group of other students either made their way into the line or walked out of the door.

There was no denying it, this was fully committing your life to the war. Either you were in, or out. Soon, the Marauders found that more than half of the students selected had chosen out.

Peter simply grinned at his close friends, unaware of what he had just gotten himself into.

IV

Breathing deeply, the older Peter nodded carefully towards the darkly cloaked figure. His pale arm was outstretched, with his Wizarding robe’s sleeve pulled up. A wand was pressed forcefully against his skin.

The dimly lit room was filled with a moderate number of people, although little of their features could be made out from the dark shadows they were each enveloped in. However, Peter knew that each would be wearing clothes similar to his; a dark robe with a Death Eater’s mask either fitted to their head or clenched in their hand.

Most of the people gathered were his enemies while in Hogwarts, and many of them still treated him in such a way. Once again, he felt used.

As the seconds ticked by with a slowing agony, Peter gradually grew green with envy. How is it the others could remain so true to the cause when it was obvious who would come out on top? How could James and Lily be on a date at that very moment, like life was normal? How could they make him feel like such an outcast?

Only seconds after the wand had been pressed against his skin, Peter felt a searing pain in his arm. The traitor gritted his teeth at the pain, but inwardly knew he deserved it. He had officially betrayed everyone who trusted him.

V

It was gradually over the days that he realised he had never been appreciated by the Death Eaters.

Of course, Peter always knew he was only a spy to them, a way to get information directly from the Order. He had thought, or rather hoped, that after he’d turned James and Lily over to Voldemort he would have gained respect. Peter had even hoped that in giving his arm he might have gained respect from them. But still, they treated him like dirt. Especially Severus Snape. This alone was enough to make Peter turn purple from rage.

It was enough to regret ever turning on the Order, although he knew there was no way to get back into their welcoming arms. He had all ready switched sides one too many times.

And now, he faced death because of their distrust and lack of respect for him. But Peter had already decided he would face it this time, rather than flee. Where would he flee to, anyway?

This time, he would keep his promise.