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October 1979

He was a Marauder too.

They seem so willing to forget that - so perfectly okay with leaving him out. Sure, he wasn't as studious or as funny or as attractive as Remus or James or Sirius, but he was still Wormtail. He invented pranks. He figured out how to get into the Slytherin Common Room, even if you didn't know the password. Hell, he was the one who figured out about Moony!

Surely, surely, that has to count for something.

April 1970

His father had laughed when he got his acceptance letter to Hogwarts; "Oh, suppose you're not a Squib after all. Sure you want to go, son? They'll tease you there, for being so pathetic."

(He had refused to go to his father's funeral when he died in Peter's fifth year. Pettigrew. Petty-grew. Maybe there was truth in names.)

September 1971

He hated being Pettigrew, watching as his year-mates were Sorted before him. The pretty redhead from the train was sorted into Gryffindor, much to James's delight, and her friend with the greasy hair went to Slytherin. Finally, after Odair, Finnick went to Ravenclaw and O'Malley, Jane went to Hufflepuff, his name was called. The Hat rested on his head and a voice began to croon in his ear.

Ah, young Pettigrew. A thirst to prove yourself, definitely... Not a Ravenclaw, you don't like studying too much. A Hufflepuff, perhaps?

No! Peter panicked. If he went to Hufflepuff... his father would kill him. Besides, he wasn't loyal.

Hmm. If you're so sure, then what about Slytherin?

Definitely not.

Well, where do you propose you go?

Gryffindor. Of this, Peter was sure. He had seen Remus and Sirius be placed there, and there was little doubt that James would be any different.

Are you quite sure? You don't strike me as particularly brave...

I'm positive.

That's about the bravest you've ever been, the Hat replied, slightly wearily, and with a resigned sigh shouted "GRYFFINDOR!"

March 1976

He tried to tune them out, he really did, but he simply wasn't as good at ignoring insults. He wasn't like Remus, who coolly ignored them, or Sirius, who was quick to hex. He wasn't like James, who merely laughed off any insults, or even Lily (who bore a fair amount of hatred, especially from the Slytherins) who had a quick, witty tongue. He tried not to let the jibes get to him, but some of them hit too close to the bone. He knew he wasn't as witty, as funny, as cool, as clever as the others. They didn't care, so why should he?

(Of course, everything's easier said than done.)

They said he was a pathetic excuse for a Gryffindor. They said he didn't even deserve to be magical. They said -

He'd prove them wrong, one day.

November 1980

If he was perfectly honest, he wasn't one hundred percent sure why he agreed to meet Lucius Malfoy. He was always sure of himself, ever so Slytherin, ever so suave. He was married now, and his wife was apparently pregnant. Peter wasn't sure why such trivialities mattered to him. He was here to prove himself worthy, not to kiss Lucius Malfoy's pureblood arse.

Unsurprisingly, Malfoy kept him waiting. When he finally did show, the first thing he remarked was, "I suppose Snape and Avery were right about you."

"Pardon?"

"They always said you'd be easily swayed."

The anger bubbled up inside him, making him abruptly furious. He couldn't give away his ulterior motives, so he simply raised an eyebrow. "This has nothing to do with being swayed."

"Oh really?" Malfoy snickered. "So what is your reasoning for meeting with me tonight?"

"I'm sick of my so-called friends, and I see that the Dark Lord has the- the right idea."

"Even though you consort with Mudbloods and blood traitors?"

"I can be useful," Peter retorted, hating the petulant whine in his voice. He had rehearsed his speech on the way here, taking a Muggle car he borrowed from the Order so he could blend in once he left Knockturn Alley. He went over his reasons for being here - he will be the double agent, strolling into the dragon's lair and returning with crucial information about Vol- the Dark Lord's movements and plans, and the Order can defeat him once and for all.

When he finally left, with the promise of a meeting the following week, he waited until Malfoy had Disapparated before throwing up the contents of his stomach.

May 1981

The air was refreshing, the sun beating down on Peter as he hurried down to meet James. His friend had been so desperate when his head had appeared in Peter's fireplace and pleaded he come over. The little house in Sussex was pretty, granted, but it made Peter feel claustrophobic and bad. It had been six months since he started working as a double agent, and he hadn't reported a thing to Dumbledore.

Which made him a pretty crappy double-agent, and an even worse Gryffindor.

When he reached the Potter's, James invited him inside with a happy hello and Lily gave him a hug. Harry babbled something that sounded like Wormy and Peter's insides knotted. All of a sudden, he hated them. They were good people, and they made him feel welcome, and he hated them for being everything he was not.

"Pete," James began, looking unusually nervous, "You know about the prophecy, right?"

Peter nodded, confused as to how he fitted in to this. "What about it?"

"Voldemort's gonna come after us at some point, and with the traitor..." James trailed off, and Peter's stomach churned. "We need to go into hiding. We've got a cottage elsewhere, and we want you to be the Secret-Keeper."

Eight words, and his world came crashing down. They wanted him, mediocre Wormtail, to protect their lives. This was all wrong. Bad guys shouldn't get this so easily. He needed to say no, to admit that he's the spy, that they should just kill him now and ask Remus to be Secret-Keeper, because Voldemort wouldn't expect you to entrust a werewolf with something like that -

"Of course, Prongs!"

And in that moment, he hated himself more than ever.

June 1994

He's facing the wrong end of a wand, knowing his life is about to end, and he almost cries with relief. If Sirius (oh, Padfoot, I'm so, so sorry) or Remus (Moony, I cannot ever make it up to you) kills him then he can begin to forgive himself. His murder will be his salvation, and he will be free.

So it's no wonder, really, why when instinct takes over and he transforms into the rat's body (how fitting that after six years, they didn't begin to suspect that the rat was the rat) he loathes himself more than he did when he fought with the Hat, when he turned traitor, when he allowed the Potters to die. He won't get salvation.

He doesn't deserve it, anyway.

A/N: I couldn't resist with Finnick. Reviews are love!