Peter Pettigrew woke up and rubbed his head. He’d just had the strangest dream “ he’d dreamt that Sirius (his friend!) had tried to kill him. Disgusting, really. All Peter had done was tell Voldemort where James and Lily had been hiding. What was so bad about that?
Peter sat up and looked around. He appeared to be in a sewer, and there were several rats scurrying around him, sniffing him. Wait a minute…Peter looked at his hand. Technically, it was more of a paw now, and quite furry. He gulped and reached behind him to discover a long, scaly tail, which looked a lot like a worm. Wormtail. Peter grimaced as he remembered the nickname he’d had at school. It was rubbish. The ones that he’d thought of himself were much better: Ratty, Rat-boy, Super Rat, Whiskers…the list was endless, because Peter came up with new nicknames all the time. But Sirius hadn’t listened to him, insisting on the name ‘Wormtail’ until the other two gave in and called him that.
Sirius had tried to kill him! Come to think of it, Peter thought, as he walked off down the sewer squeaking good-byes to the rats, that was a rather good escape he’d made. Remus, James or Sirius wouldn’t have been able to blow up the street, turn into a rat and run off. That was mainly because they couldn’t turn into rats, but that didn’t really matter.
Suddenly, a thought popped into Peter’s head that made him stop. Where exactly was he going? Well, the obvious choice was his parents’ house, as they might be worried about him. Smiling, Peter started moving again. He knew the sewers like the end of his tail (it was more familiar to him than the back of his hand), because he spent most of his time down there.
Five minutes later, Peter stood outside number 13, Rodent Road - in human form, of course. After brushing some dust off the pink T-shirt that he was wearing, Peter rang the doorbell, which was very squeaky. There was no response, which was quite strange; normally, Mr and Mrs Pettigrew opened the door straight away.
Puzzled, he rang the bell again. “I’m coming, be patient!” shouted his mother’s voice. She sounded as if she’d been crying. The door opened, and Peter saw a small, rat-like woman with grey hair and red eyes. When she saw her son, she looked like she’d seen a ghost.
“Hello mum! It’s me, Peter!” said Peter, giving a little wave for extra effect.
Mrs Polly Pettigrew fainted.
Peter immediately dropped to the floor and turned into a rat. He always did that when he was nervous, and he was nervous quite a lot. It was lucky that he was, because at that moment his father “ Mr. Paul Pettigrew “ came into the hallway, holding a shotgun. He too was a nervous person, but since he couldn’t turn into a rat, he’d grabbed a gun.
“Who is it?” he cried, firing a bullet at an innocent flowerpot; you could never be too careful.
Peter chose that moment to reveal himself. However, as soon as he did, his father screamed, dropped his gun, and fainted “ in that order.
Feeling quite puzzled, Peter walked into the house, stepping over his mother’s prone body, and walked to the kitchen to make himself a nice cup of tea.
An hour later, the three Pettigrews were sitting in the living room, drinking tea. Actually, not all of them were sitting. Only Peter was sitting down, looking quite comfortable; his parents were huddled at the other end of the room, looking quite scared and saying nothing.
“So,” began Mr. Pettigrew at last, “you’re a ghost?”
Peter stared at his father with the kind of look that suggested that he didn’t think of himself as a ghost. He always thought of himself as honest…well, most of the time, at least. Up until he’d met the Dark Lord. “Am I?”
Mr. Pettigrew stared at his son. “Well, you are dead…”
Peter frowned. “Oh yes, I remember…sorry about that. The last couple of hours have been a blur, you see,” he responded, smiling.
“Hours?” shrieked Mrs. Pettigrew. “That horrid Sirius killed you last week!”
“Last week?” Peter asked faintly. “You mean I’ve been lying there in the sewers for a week?”
“It’s such a shame really,” Peter’s mother continued, as if she hadn’t heard her son. “Your little gang’s all broken up. Out of you, James, Sirius, and that nice, polite Remus, you and James are dead, Sirius is in prison, and only Remus is alright. It seems like only yesterday that you all came here for your sixteenth birthday.” She then broke into tears.
“Still,” added Mr. Pettigrew, giving his wife a hug, “now that we know you’re a ghost, it explains the other ghost over there.” He pointed to the mantelpiece, where the ghost of one of Peter’s fingers hovered and danced above a small matchbox. “All that’s left of you, my dear son. The Ministry delivered it.”
“That’s a shame,” responded Peter. “I’d grown quite attached to that finger,” recalling how he’d bitten it off himself before blowing up the street and running off. However, it seemed that Sirius was getting the credit for that rather excellent piece of magic he’d done, which was rather annoying, until he remembered that that was why he’d blown up the street in the first place “ to make it look as if Sirius was going to kill him.
“Right,” said Peter firmly, standing up. “Sorry about this, but I’ve got to go now. Plenty of places to haunt, and I’ve got to catch up with a few spirits. Bye!”
He walked out of the room, and walked into the door, banging his head, forgetting that he wasn’t actually a ghost. “Sorry about that!” Peter shouted to his parents, rubbing his head. “There’s quite a big dent in the door now. Bye again!” Peter opened the door, turned into a rat, and scurried off, heading back to the sewers.