Daydreams

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, and all other characters from the popular series are the sole ownership of J.K. Rowling and like all other authors, I\'m merely borrowing them for my own satisfaction. Enjoy.

The days are long, stretching their way toward the summer, toward freedom, and Peter Pettigrew is glad. There is nothing wrong with the day. Classes are boring and Slytherins are mean, but they quale in comparison to nights with his friends.

Especially as the moon gets closer.

Peter likes his friends. They are strong and smart. People like them. People want to be with them. But they are his friends, and they travel in the highest number of four. Either they are alone, together, or with him. If you don\'t happen to be James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin or Peter Pettigrew, shove off.

They are happiest when together.

Still, when people ask whether James likes red hair better than brown, or what Sirius sleeps in, or how much Remus really studies, the only one they can go to is Peter, and he refuses to tell. Because, they keep each other\'s secrets or die trying.

And really, who has to fear anything? Certainly not him. Not with his friends. His Quidditch stars and Prefect, animagi and werewolf. They are his. Yes, yes they are. Except when they belong to each other.

There\'s nothing wrong with the day. They pull pranks and help one another with homework. They laugh and joke around. Someone always gets saved at the last minute, when the others show up out of nowhere. Usually it\'s him. But, that\'s okay. They don\'t mind. He is precious to them, and he can take a hit, a hex or two.

He is strong because they are strong. You don\'t get picked on very often by trivial bullies, not with the friends Peter has. No, only the most worthwhile jeers and taunts. Only the most excruciating battles are waged here.

Peter loves his friends.

There is nothing wrong with days. When Sirius smiles at all the pretty girls, and James shows off, and Remus hides behind his books. Days when they seek or are sought out, and spend hours battling, and someone ends up in detention.

When meals are so pleasant. James teases Remus while Sirius lobs a laddle full of pea soup across the great hall.

Days when Remus frowns down at his notebook. Concentrating, Sirius bites his tongue, just so. James pushes up, removes and cleans, fiddling with his glasses.

No, days are good. Days are very, very good.

Not like nights.

Peter likes knowing all of their secrets. He likes that everyone knows he knows. He likes to refuse answers.

Peter likes to go running under the full moon, and scurrying down darkened hallways under James\' invisibility cloak. He likes midnight raids to the kitchen, and setting up elaborate pranks, and sneaking into the girls lavatory.

But, he doesn\'t like nights much.

He doesn\'t like how he can\'t sleep. Or how his muscles are always on fire. He doesn\'t like the way he can\'t breathe, and the way the tears stain the pillow.

He doesn\'t like the sounds they make. He doesn\'t like knowing where they come from. He doesn\'t like knowing why they\'re there.

But, most of all, he doesn\'t like how he is not included.

And every night is the same, except when they have plans. Silent footsteps, but he can feel them move. Always a different bed. Always a new game.

Sometimes they forget. Forget the charms, forget he is there. Forget they are four, not three.

It is then when Peter closes his eyes tight, and tries not to listenthe the sounds, or the cries. To ignore the \"Oh yes, Sirius!\" and the \"More, James, more!\" and the \"Fuck, Remus...\"

Because it\'s not like he isn\'t here instead of there for lack of trying. He was here out of fear.

They hadn\'t been ashamed, not one bit. Asking him if he wanted to join, asking to play. He was mortified.

They were pretty. All very pretty. So very beautiful. He knows because he\'s seen them. But it is wrong, what they do. He can\'t let himself be a part of that.

And so he lays very still and quiet, breathing through his mouth, eyes squeezed tightly shut. Sometimes he can\'t help himself. Not when they moan like that, or the bed creaks ominously, or something hits the ground, as they toss it away, uncaring.

They are there. In there, together. All hot mouths, and long limbs, hard and wanting. Thrusting and grinding and writhing and...

\"Oh Gods...! Yes..Yes!\"

They\'ve forgotten again.

\"Oh! James..James, turn over.\"

They have forgotten the charms.

\"Mmm..Remus...just like that...\"

They\'ve forgotten the curtain.

\"Uh! S-Sirius..Uhh!\"

They\'ve forgotten where they are.

\"More...a little more...\"

They\'ve forgotten why they\'re here.

\"Oh! Don\'t stop! Don\'t you dare stop!!\"

T've 've forgotten why they only do this in the dark.

\"Oh God...Oh God...\"

And most importantly...

\"AUHH!\"

\"YESSS!!\"

\"OHHH!\"

They\'ve forgotten him.