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I Won’t Forget You


“IT’S BECAUSE OF YOU SHE’S MAD, YOU’RE THE ONE THAT COULDN’T CARE FOR HER! YOU’RE THE ONE THAT DIDN’T PROTECT HER! YOU’RE THE ONE THAT’S TO BLAME! EVER SINCE WE FOUND OUT SHE WAS A SQUIB YOU CARED FOR HER LESS ---”

“THAT’S ABSOLUTE RUBBISH! YOU’RE THE ONE THAT CARED LESS FOR HER THAN YOU DID THE BOY, YOU’RE THE ONE --”

“MAGGIE WAS MY LITTLE GIRL! I LOVED MAGGIE MORE THAN ANYTHING ELSE, MORE THAN ANYTHING ELSE, CECIL!”

Peter covered his ears and closed his eyes, and transformed into a rat, squeaking in agony as he shrank from his round shape into the grey fur ball, his tail wrapped about himself, hugging it as though it were a comfort to him to hold it close to his chest. Tears - hot and stinging - ran over his whiskers.

This had happened the day before his birthday, too. And three days before that, when Cecil had come home late from work for the third time in a week. And he Monday prior, too, and several over times over the summer since the day Cecil Pettigrew had gotten up and walked out of the kitchen, the night that Remus, Sirius, James, and Lily had been caught flying a motorcar. Every since time, Peter had sat about praying that they would come for him in that motorcar and drive him away.

But they never came.

And he’d written letters to James and Sirius at the Potter’s house without a reply. He’d sent owls to the castle in Iceland to Remus and got no reply…

It was the morning of Peter’s birthday - his sixteenth birthday - that his parents had this fight - fierce and terrible, so loud that the floorboards seemed to shake with their voices - and he decided to get out of the house. They’d never notice, he told himself, and so, transformed, he ran across his carpet, climbed up and out the window and slid down through the drain pipe to the ground and scampered across the grass, through a hole in the gate and down the road a way before he transformed back into himself. One of his shoes was untied as he ran, and he realized there was no where to go in the village where he lived, so he stuck out his wand arm and the purple Knight Bus arrived to sweep him away.

It was in this way that Peter Pettigrew ended up alone, sitting outside of Florean Fortescue’s ice cream parlour in Diagon Alley that evening, eating a cup of butterbeer ice cream with sprinkles, feeling quite sorry for himself (and looking quite sorry for himself, too). He softly sucked on his spoon and sighed a very heavy sigh, staring down at the melting ice cream and moved the pink spoon about, mixing the sprinkles right in…

Suddenly the green metal chair beside him pulled back and a man sat in the seat. A very plain man with dark eyes and a bit of a smirk to his face. He stared at Peter for a long moment and Peter shifted uncomfortably, taking up his cup and spoon and he moved to get up and the man said, “Peter, stay, talk with me a while.”

“How - how do you know my name?” he asked.

“Oh we’ve met before,” the man replied, and he smiled in a sort of friendly way at Peter and he patted Peter’s shoulder. “But you don’t recognize me, do you?”

Peter shook his head.

“I shouldn’t expect you to,” the man said. He smiled. There was something about the way he spoke that reminded Peter of somebody, though he couldn’t quite place who it was. He sort of drew out his words and said them in a regal sort of tone, as though everything he had to say was of high importance. He held his chin quite higher than average people and looked down the length of his nose at Peter.

Peter stared up at him.

“It’s your birthday, isn’t it Peter?” asked the man, and without waiting for a reply, he said, “Happy Birthday. You’re sixteen, aren’t you?”

Peter nodded slowly. This man - this mysterious man - was the first one to wish him happy birthday. His parents had forgotten, they’d been too busy fighting.

“Very special day,” the man said. And he smiled and paused, then reached into his pocket and he withdrew a pen. An ink pen, like muggles use. But a very nice ink pen, with a fancy gold tip and a nice, shiny black body that spun to put out the tip and had a little gold clip that would hold it in the carrier’s pocket. The man looked at the pen and he said, slowly, “Your friends didn’t remember your birthday, did they, Peter?”

Peter hesitated and looked down at his ice cream cup. He shook his head.

“Neither did mummy and daddy, did they?”

Peter’s nostrils flared and his eyes filled with tears. “It’s… it’s okay. There’s other things… going on. Everyone is busy and they have other things to think of than birthdays.”

“But they never would have forgotten one of your other friends birthdays, now would they? They’d never forget James Potter’s birthday for example.” The man frowned. His voice carried a sympathetic tone to it.

“James would never let us forget his birthday, he counts down every day. Probably knows how many days ‘til his birthday there are right now,” Peter said.

“But they wouldn’t forget Sirius Black’s birthday either, would they?”

Peter stared at the cup of melting ice cream remains very hard. “Well, no.”

“Nor Remus Lupin’s?”

Peter stared at the table. “Sirius would kill us if we forgot Remus’s birthday.”

The man made a disgruntled noise of displeasure and shook his head.

“What?” Peter asked, looking up at him.

“I don’t think it’s very fair is all,” the man explained, “You’re so patient with all of them, and they pick on you so much throughout the year… And they can’t even remember your birthday - the one day that it should be all about you… and they can’t even remember you then.”

Peter felt queasy. Who was this man? How did he know everything Peter had been sitting there thinking for the past hour as he ate his ice cream, all alone? He wished he remembered where he’d met the man, but he just didn’t recognize him. There wasn’t a thing about that face that looked even slightly familiar to Peter.

The man reached out a hand and put it on Peter’s hand. “I would never forget you Peter,” the man said, and he smiled… and he looked Peter right in the eyes… and there was something there, something in the eyes that sort of… gleamed… just right… and Peter’s arm sort of burned a little - the arm where the snakes had coiled their way around, the night he made that promise to Voldemort… and he shivered and pulled his hand back from the man’s, staring at him a moment. The man smiled and he stood up, straightening his jacket. He reached into his pocket and he withdrew a bit of parchment, tightly folded. “Peter Pettigrew,” he said, “When you’re ready to be appreciated… you open that parchment and you speak that spell… and you’ll be given the proper attention that a good boy like you deserves.” He patted Peter’s head and then he leaned closer, “Happy birthday again, my little friend.” And the man turned and walked away.

Peter’s hand closed around the bit of parchment, shaking, as he stared after the man, who walked swiftly away, down the street, and ducked into the turn that went to Knockturn Alley.

Peter stared at the parchment in his hand and he felt a twist to his belly.




It was true that neither Honey nor Cecil had noticed Peter had left the house. He snuck back to his room to find not a thing had changed except that his parents had locked themselves away into separate rooms. He snuck downstairs and made himself a sandwich. There was no cake - his mum really had forgotten. He’d hoped he’d go down and at least find there was a cake but she’d simply been distracted before giving it to him. But there was none. He felt even sorrier for himself then than he had sitting outside Fortescue’s… and he sat turning over the folded bit of parchment in his palm, contemplating, wondering what was written inside, wondering if he should open it…

Suddenly there was a loud barking outside and Peter looked up.

Don’t get your hopes up. That’s just a neighbor dog.

The barking continued, and Peter finally stood up to go and close the window over the kitchen sink, through which the barking was coming. The backyard was very dark with the exception of a single bright light - a wand, gripped in the teeth of the tall, narrow form of Remus Lupin, the light glowing off his scars over his nose as he searched the ground, gathering up pebbles from the grass. Beside him a dog stood, barking, tail wagging, running circles around him and a tall, antlered stag that stood just behind, honking quietly in the back of his throat.

Peter’s eyes flooded. He ran ‘round to the kitchen door and out into the dark without a moment’s hesitation, “You came! You came!” he cried and he ran forward, flinging himself at Remus Lupin and knocking him back into the side of the stag, who… er, staggered… to the side before catching his balance as the dog rushed up behind Peter, tongue lolling out.

Remus smiled and thumped Peter on the back warmly. “Course we came, Pete; it’s your birthday, we wouldn’t miss it, mate,” he said awkwardly. Remus wasn’t good at lying. But Peter pretended he didn’t notice. It didn’t matter if they’d forgotten until the last minute. The point was they were there now and they remembered at all.

There was a pop and the dog was gone, replaced by Sirius Black - wearing a tight tank top that showed off his defined chest and -- “You’ve tattooed yourself!” Peter said.

“Yeah,” Sirius grinned. “I certainly have.” He stuck his arm out, “Look at this one. It changes with the moon. A moon calendar.”

“That’s really cool,” Peter said, truly impressed. “What’s all over your eyes?” Peter asked, noticing the dark rings around Sirius’s eyes.

“It’s eyeliner,” Sirius said.

“It’s punk rock,” Remus said before Sirius could.

Peter repeated, “Punk rock?”

“Very,” Sirius replied solemnly.

The stag honked and nuzzled the back of Peter’s neck and Peter laughed and said, “Hi Prongs.”

“Anyway, darling,” Sirius said, “We’re going camping. Go get your pyjamas and tell your mum you’ll be home tomorrow and kiss her good riddance.” He grinned and slapped Peter on the back, “Off you pop.” He pushed Peter toward the door.

Peter stumbled numbly toward the kitchen door, and caught himself with the handle, looking back at them - the high antlered stag, Remus, and Sirius all standing there in the light of Remus’s lighted wand. Peter smiled, and ducked inside. He ran upstairs and into his bedroom to find several pebbles laying about the floor in front of his open bedroom window and he smirked and realized Remus had been trying for some time to get Peter’s attention with those pebbles before Sirius had gone and started barking.

Peter shoved his pyjamas into a bag, a blanket, and threw himself on his belly and slid under his bed to grab a paper bag that held several bars of Honeydukes chocolate and strawberry licorice wands. He scribbled a note to his mother and carried it downstairs, pulling it out of his pocket and putting it down on the kitchen table, weighing it down with the salt and pepper shakers. There was a soft thump and he looked down at the floor and there was the note from the mysterious man he’d met in Diagon Alley and he bent down and picked it up.

He should’ve thrown it away.

But instead, he stowed it into his bag before slinging the rucksack over his shoulders and ducking out the back door to where the Stag, Dog, and Remus Lupin were waiting for him.