Chapter Text
One Horcrux down – only X more to go.
After the small disaster that was destroying the locket, Regulus seemed to have decided that they deserved a month-long break before running after the next location where they suspected a Horcrux.
Of course, that didn’t necessarily mean they weren’t still kind of working. Regulus was stressing about the upcoming electrical storm, which they would need for the Animagus transformation.
And he was, of course, mildly stressing about whatever animal he would turn into.
(The mildly being sarcastic – Peter was tempted to drug him just to get Reg to stop fidgeting for an hour. Fidgeting was Peter’s thing. Just because Reg was nervous didn’t mean he could steal his iconic flaws like that.)
And for someone as smart as Regulus usually was, he just. Wouldn’t. Stop. Asking. Dumb. Questions.
Like:
“What if I’m something far too big, so I can’t use it to infiltrate anything?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know? A horse?”
“Reg, a horse would be so much more practical than James’s stag was.”
Or:
“What if I’m something that doesn’t even live in England, Peter?”
“Like what?”
“A lion?”
“Reg, I love you, but you are not a lion.”
“I could be. Sirius was named after the dog star and is a dog. I was named after the brightest star in the Leo constellation. I could be a lion.”
“If you’re a lion, I’m a leguaan.”
“You already have an Animagus form.”
“That was the point, Reg. There’s no way you’re a lion. You’re a housecat at most.”
Or:
“What if I get an animal I don’t even like?”
“You’d get over yourself someday.”
“I don’t think I could get over myself if I was… a maggot or something like that.”
“Take it from the rat: It’s possible. – Also, you won’t be a maggot, idiot.”
Or:
“What if I’m a fish? I hate lakes, I almost drowned.”
“…You know what. I can see that.”
“What?”
“You sometimes remind me a bit of a fish. You make a face like one. You know the small fish that like cleaning the windows in aquariums?”
“Excuse me?!”
“Yes, exactly that face.”
“Peter, I am not a fish.”
“Hmm, but are you sure?”
“Oh, by Merlin, why am I even talking to you?”
Between that and trying to figure out how many Horcruxes they were supposed to search for, they tried to make up for lost time – dragging each other to various activities they had missed out on because of war and prison: the Christmas market in Edinburgh (which Pettigrew’s mum wanted to see), various museums, theaters, the botanical garden, musicals, a disastrous attempt at snowboarding, the zoo, hiking, and so on and so on.
“I’m going to relearn how to play the violin,” Regulus announced on a rainy day in November, as they walked out of a Muggle concert Regulus had wanted to visit.
“The violin? Not the piano?” wondered Peter, blowing warm air on his freezing hands.
“Maybe someday… but for now I think I miss the violin more.”
The excited spark in Reg’s eyes made Peter smile too.
“What about you? Do you want to learn an instrument?”
Considering this, Peter fumbled with the sleeves of his winter coat.
“I never learned one. Not that I particularly minded. I was always more into singing in the shower, I suppose,” he decided. “Maybe I’ll find something else though.”
With that, Regulus started playing the violin – and soon the piano again. Peter watched with fascination how Reg stumbled over notes for weeks… until suddenly he didn’t.
The 5th of December was a cold, snowy day. Which meant that Peter finally had an excuse to grab both his mum and Reg, gather them in front of the TV, and proclaim a movie day.
He had gotten DVDs from the city when Regulus and he last went to Edinburgh to visit the Gyle Shopping Centre. Since shopping in Diagon Alley was still a bit risky, they had visited the castle and strolled through the shopping center. Peter had bought a few classics that he wanted Reg to see, and a few movies from past years that he himself had missed out on. From Ghostbusters and The Little Mermaid to My Neighbor Totoro, Peter was pretty proud of his selection.
Even if they had to pause Copper and Capper three times because Reg was taking that film a bit too hard and kept sniffling after the fox got left in the woods.
The middle of December took them to a Christmas market in London. Shopping for decorations, introducing Regulus to Muggle Christmas customs, and trying food from the festive stalls was… bizarre.
Strolling through snowy London, breathing cold air that wasn’t stuffy or laced with salt, Peter found himself strangely disconnected from the world.
After a few months on the run – free from prison – he had found a new rhythm in his life.
New goals. New things to try. New things to experience.
Still, the once ever-present anxiety and paranoia slowly crept back into his mind whenever they went out in public like this.
The bright lights on the Christmas trees flickered – and every now and then, when they did so behind his back, he held his breath, expecting a spell to hit him.
The masses of people pressing through the streets, loudly laughing and chatting, were overwhelming after years of only having Regulus, Louis, and the dementors for company.
Regulus must have noticed that Peter was growing unsettled, because he pulled him a bit further away from the bright lights and handed him a hot chocolate.
“It is strange, that life just moved on while we were gone, right?” Regulus asked, watching a small child glide across the slippery ground with a giggle.
“Most of them don’t even realize there was a war right beneath their noses,” Peter commented, warming his hands on the hot chocolate. “And even for wizards it’s been thirteen years since You-Know-Who died.”
Regulus took a sip of his drink, eyes following the crowd.
The young child slipped and fell. A bit uncoordinated, he got up and started gliding over the ice again.
“It’s still strange. They’re all so bright and alive. When I walked into that cave it felt like the world was ending. And in Azkaban… nothing felt real.”
“I kind of always liked that about the prison,” Peter mumbled.
“You would, you small psychopath.”
Huffing a laugh, Peter shook his head.
“I mean it. Azkaban was quite comfortable in that aspect. You can’t fuck up if nothing feels real. You can’t hurt anybody if you can’t make choices. It was… strangely peaceful, as long as the dementors weren’t too close.”
Humming, Regulus tilted his head.
“I think nowadays I’d rather live with the choice to fail than sit safely in a cell.”
Peter considered this.
Before Azkaban, he had feared everything. Constantly fighting anxiety and paranoia. It had been exhausting. A while into the war, not even Occlumency had helped him shove down the clawing inside.
People had still expected the best of him, when Peter had been one misstep away from turning into a rat and leaving school, war, and the crushing responsibility of being a person behind.
His friends – and the rest of the wizarding world – had always seen him as a spineless fool who would cave if they just pushed the right buttons. And they had been right.
He had spent his school years and the war pleasing whoever managed to make him feel the guiltiest for not being as good as he should have been.
If he followed orders, he at least didn’t have to shoulder responsibility. If he followed orders, the fallout wasn’t really his fault. If he followed orders, he still had someone to crawl back to.
He had hated the war.
And he had hated getting pushed to risk his life, his friends, his mum, his sanity – for a never-ending battle.
He had preferred Azkaban. Not because he loved the dementors or Louis, but because there was only Regulus. And Regulus didn’t push him to be braver, better, kinder, or more daring. Regulus was content with whatever Peter was willing to offer. Hunting the Horcruxes had never felt like something Peter had to do. Breaking out of prison had been his own idea. Peter infiltrating Hogwarts had made Regulus more anxious than Peter himself.
Peter looked at the lively crowds of the Christmas market and his friend, calmly sipping hot chocolate, and thought that maybe…
maybe he preferred making his own choices too.