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I Knew You Had It In You


Peter huddled into the pocket of Albus Dumbledore’s coat. In the frenzy of the werewolf fight, he’d run for the door the instant he’d felt the cold air brush his whiskers, ducking from the pocket of the abandoned cloak by the fire hearth that he’d previously sought refuge in. It wasn’t until he got closer that he realized he recognized the smell of the headmaster and changed his route. He’d climbed the headmaster’s robes silently, unnoticed, and tucked himself hastily into the pocket, curling up and trembling at the very bottom of it.

Surely Dumbledore’s pocket was as safe a place as one could ever be.

He heard Dumbledore command Sirius to go back to his office, to wait there, heard Sirius ask about Remus, about James… and finally about him, Peter.

An afterthought. Always an afterthought. Always last to be mentioned, always last to be asked of.

Peter shivered.

When Dumbledore stepped into the night, Peter felt the pocket swing, thumping against Dumbledore’s side. He clutched the cloth with his tiny paws and twitched, waiting, wondering what to do now. He considered revealing himself, but he wasn’t entirely positive he could and he certainly didn’t want to try to turn back to a person while he was in Dumbledore’s pocket - that would be nothing but awkward - and so he rode along as Dumbledore walked away from the Shrieking Shack. Then he paused and there was a CRACK! and Peter felt quite squeezed as Dumbledore disapparated from Hogsmeade into the mountains.

Dumbledore had been right, of course, he had come out quite close to the cave where the fighting between Resistance members and Death Eaters still raged on and he reached to withdraw his wand, only just barely missing feeling the rat curled at the bottom. Peter could hear cries of pain and shouts, spells that sounded intimidating and awful and he knew this was something that he didn’t want to be anywhere near - even in Dumbledore’s pocket!

“Dumbledore’s here!” shouted Flitwick, and the Resistance members fought with renewed vigor against the Death Eaters. Even Hagrid was blasting stunners with his pink umbrella.

Peter scrambled out of Dumbledore’s pocket, though, eager not to be any part of the fight. He slid down the length of the headmaster’s robes, and ran for it, squeaking and weaving his way along the path, away from the cave as Dumbledore joined the others in the battle.

The moon was low in the sky, soon dawn would come. Peter’s whiskers flicked and fluttered as he ran as fast as his little rat legs would carry him, which, considering how tiny he was, was pretty fast for a rat. Faster than he probably could run as a boy, at least… which, considering how round he was, wasn’t very fast at all for a boy.

He reached a plateau in the mountain, and, not wanting to go so far that he would get lost and never find his way back, he ducked into the trees there and, scared it wouldn’t work, he concentrated quite hard on turning back into a boy.

To his absolute amazement -- it worked.

He sat down on a log and panted, clutching his heart, staring up through the trees to see the flashes of colored light that came from the various duels raging by the cave. Peter felt dizzy, leaned down and put his head between his knees, taking deep breaths.

There were footsteps in the woods behind him. Softly gliding steps, more of a floating than a walking. He slowly lowered himself down to the ground before the log, holding exceptionally still, rather wishing he hadn’t turned back from his rat form just yet.

“Where is the Boy?” came a low, rasping voice. Peter recognized it at once as the same he’d heard from the mirror in first year and he trembled. It was Lord Voldemort! Here, in the forest once again.

Rudolphus Lestrange’s voice carried through the dark. “Greyback has the Potter boy --”

“No, not that one,” Voldemort said, “The cowardly one!”

Peter had to hold his breath to keep from gasping.

“I - I don’t know,” stammered Rudolphus, “He - he disappeared before. But we’ve got the Potter boy! And Orion Black’s gone to get the other two…”

Voldemort sounded angry, “What do you mean he disappeared before?” he hissed, “He can’t have disappeared!”

Rudolphus didn’t know what to say.

“HE IS THE ONE THAT WILL GIVE ME WHAT I WANT!” Voldemort shouted, “DID YOU NOT HEAR WHAT THE BLIND SEER SAID?”

“Yes, I… I did but --” Rudolphus stammered.

“But what?” Voldemort hissed. “But what? Do you think BUT is an excuse?”

“No, my Lord, but --”

“ENOUGH. You’re an imbecile. The Boy is worth more than ten of any of the other Boys. The Blind Seer says HE is the key to getting what I want. I need him -- now.”

“Begging your pardon sir, but… the Blind Seer’s got to be wrong,” Rudolphus said with a smirk, “I mean… he is blind.” Voldemort shared none of Rudolphus’s amusement, and so he stopped laughing and sobered quickly. “Have you seen the Pettigrew Boy, my Lord? He’s not the sort of person who will be of much help... He’s as fat as he is tall and -- and a terrible coward! When we had him in the clearing, my Lord, he stayed prone upon the floor, whimpering like an ickle baby. This one we have for you - the Potter boy - he’s feisty, very brave, tried to fight us back...”

“I do not need feisty servants, Lestrange,” snapped Voldemort, “I need faithful followers, I need scared followers. I need cowards. Like you.” Silence fell over the pair of them. “I need the Boy. Get me the Boy.”

“Y - yes sir,” said Rudolphus.

“Now go and tell Greyback he can eat his morsel. It very well may be his last meal. I’ve had quite enough of this bloody mess you lot have made. Bring me the Boy or you will all suffer for it.” There was a loud CRACK.

“Bloody hell,” muttered Rudolphus and Peter heard him kick about in the bracken a moment, frustration letting loose, and then he stormed through the forest.

So Greyback had not yet killed James. Yet. He was about to, when Rudolphus made it back to him. Peter hugged his knees and glanced over his shoulder. The colorful lights of the duels at the top of the hill continued to flash - there was no hope of any of those defenders coming to their rescue. They were all busy, fighting. James was as good as dead, there was nobody there to save him!

Except Peter.

A tremble of fear shivered down Peter’s back.

If he went, though, he could end up captured and it was him that Voldemort wanted. Whoever this Blind Seer fellow was, he’d told Voldemort that it was Peter that was needed for whatever horribly sinister purpose that Voldemort needed. Peter shook, wondering how it was that he, just an ordinary wizard boy who had grown up in an ordinary wizarding house with an ordinary wizarding family, could possibly have ended up tangled in the web of Lord Voldemort’s needs and demands?

He’d end up killed if he went.

But they were going to hurt James if he stayed.

He didn’t know what to do. Tears burned his eyes, poured over his cheeks, hot and wet and horrible. He ugly-cried, curling and rocking himself.

And as he sat there, pondering ,fighting against his fear, a sudden echo sounded through his head… a memory from just the night before...

”Don’t leave me here by myself!” he’d cried.

< “Don’t you let me go out there by myself,” James had replied…

“James, please, I’m so scared,” he’d whimpered.

“I know you are, Peter,” James had said, and he’d looked at Peter with the most caring expression. “But we’re Gryffindors. That mean’s we’re brave. You have it in you Pete, I know you do…. I’m not going to let you get hurt. I’d die before I let you be hurt.”

He couldn’t let James die.

He just couldn’t.

If James could die for him, Peter, then surely Peter could die for him, James.

So it was that Peter Pettigrew got to his feet, and balled his fists, and though he shook like a leaf in a windstorm, he moved quickly down the path, the way that Rudolphus Lestrange had gone, determined to save James Potter - the boy who believed that little Peter Pettigrew could be brave.




Rudolphus found Greyback among the trees. James was petrified - Rudolphus had cast the spell before leaving to talk to Voldemort. Greyback was leaning over James’s body, his teeth bared, just growling lowly. Every now and again he would lower his face and run his tongue along James’s face, enjoying the desperation in James’s face, knowing the boy would wince if he could. Teasing his prey was half the fun of the kill… When Rudolphus stepped up to where Greyback stood, he said simply, “Voldemort says to kill him,” he said simply, then he turned, “I need to find the Pettigrew boy or we’re all going to be killed.” He stormed away into the forest, planning to head back to the clearing where they’d last seen the Boy.

If a wolf could smile… Greyback did it. His snout wrinkled as he opened his jaw wide and started to come down, aiming for James’s throat -- there was no resistance, there was no way for James to struggle, no way for him to fight… but the fear in his eyes shot adrenaline and excitement through Greyback’s veins and he started to close his jaw ---

“STOP!” Peter ran forward, arms stretched out before him and he sit Greyback as hard as he could right in the side, knocking him off of James. “Finite Incantantum!” he cried.

James’s body went lax and he sat up, springing to his feet. “Peter?” he asked, legitimately unsure, since he couldn’t see without his glasses. “Is that you?”

“Yes!” Peter squeaked, “Let’s go!” He grabbed James’s wrist as the wolf scrambled to his feet, barking frantically for Rudolphus to return, as he ran after the two boys. Peter had to guide James, as James couldn’t see, pulling him through the woods. “Careful - a log. There’s a root there. Watch out. Jump a little. To the left. Duck. C’mon James, he’s coming!”

Fenrir Greyback shot through the trees, sleek and lithe as a shadow, and Peter felt a stitch growing in his chest, his breath catching sharply just below his ribs. James stumbled and Peter caught him, shoving him upright. “Hang on!” he cried, “You’ve got this, mate! You’ve got this!” Greyback was practically at their heels, very nearly on top of them, and Peter pushed James ahead of him quickly. “Run, mate, run like the bloody wind!” he cried out.

They broke through the line of trees into a field. The sun was coming up, the rays of light spilling over the treetops across the melting snow. James’s foot caught a rock and he went down, sprawling face-first into the muddy snow. Peter ran up and paused to kneel beside James. The wind had been completely knocked out of him. “James! James, he’s coming, we need to go!”

But James shook his head, wincing as he tried to sit up, unable to breathe deeply.

Peter looked up and he saw Greyback coming, charging across the field. He stood up, and, his heart in his throat, he tried very, very hard to shoot a stunner at the wolf… but the words caught every time in his fear. “Stu - stup… stupi…” He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t. It wouldn’t come out, and now it was very nearly too late. The wolf was leaping now, bounding, mere feet away… He squeezed his eyes tight, blocking James from the wolf.

The sun’s rays cut over the trees, slicing through the shadow as harsh as a knife, striking the wolf mid-leap and with a convulsion, Greyback hit the snow, skidding, the transformation back to a man beginning.

Peter opened his eyes. “Oh Merlin!” he shouted. He turned to James. “C’mon.” He pulled him up from the ground.

James had tears in his eyes. “Peter,” he breathed as they ran, wincing each step of the way as pain wrecked through his chest. “Peter you’ve just saved my bloody life.”

Peter flushed, “That’s how friendship works, James.”

James laughed, though it hurt like hell to do it.

“I knew you had it in you, Pete.”