Peter gently picked through the rubble of the destroyed house. After ratting out the Longbottoms he had been allowed first rummage. He hadn’t found anything particularly good yet when a small sound hit his ears. He moved to where the sound was coming from, and found that it was in the collapsed basem*nt. After shifting into his rat form he scurried under the debris to the still intact open area of the basem*nt. The sound came again, and Peter shifted back to being human. Looking for the source of the sound, he found a bundle of cloth in a cardboard box. Unwrapping the cloth he found, wait, a baby? This is a baby. He realized that this must be Neville, the newborn son of the Longbottoms. Peter stared at him for a moment. How had he escaped the Deatheaters? Neville looked up at Peter, cooed and reached for him. Peter made a choice.
Three years later Peter was trying to figure out how to deal with a fussy toddler.
“Come on Villy, just eat your peas. They’re good for you.” Peter begged his child. They were sitting at the table in their sunlit kitchen. The yellow walls and lace tablecloth gave a homey impression, unlike what you would think a bachelor’s house would look like when shared with a three-year-old. An owl perch sat next to the open window, perfect for the family's barn owl, Remy.
“No! I don’t want peas! I want jelly!” Neville shouted, “Jelly, Jelly, JELLY!” Peter sighed.
“I faked my death for this.” He murmured, rubbing his temples. “If you can eat five bites of your peas you can have jelly toast, okay?”
“Yay!” Neville shouted, and started shoveling peas in his mouth. He had no idea how many five was. Peter smiled and ruffled Neville’s hair with his good hand. It had been a bad day for pain, and having the compliance of his child made everything much easier. Peter really didn’t feel like fighting right now. He walked to the kitchen, and pulled out bread and jam for Neville’s toast. He winced as he picked up the knife in his four fingered hand, every joint ached and the stump felt like it was being cut off. Again. A small body suddenly rammed into him, arms wrapping around his legs.
“Hello, Villy. Did you finish your peas?”
“Yes I did.” Neville punctuated his words by tugging on Peter’s pant leg. “And now I am ready for my jelly.”
“Hm, I don’t know. Maybe I should eat this jelly instead.” Peter picked up the toast and started slowly moving it towards his mouth.
“No no no no no!” Neville laughed. “My jelly!” He reached for the toast, giggling and running away when Peter handed it to him. Peter shook his head and laughed along.
Neville was crying. Peter held him, gently rubbing his head.
“What’s wrong, Villy? Why are you crying?” Peter tried to keep his voice gentle. He had never been good at comforting his child, but he always tried his best.
“The kids at school… They keep making fun of me.” Neville sniffled and broke out into full sobs. Peter’s heart sank. In the wizarding world he was legally dead, so he took Neville to Muggle places when they needed groceries or just wanted to get out of the house. He had decided last year that before being enrolled in Hogwarts Neville should go to a muggle primary school. Hogwarts didn’t teach things like math and reading, so Peter had wanted him to have a head start. He hoped it hadn’t been a mistake.
“What do they make fun of you about?” Peter was almost scared of the answer. Neville took a deep, shuddering breath.
“They say it’s weird to only live with your uncle. They say you’re weird cause you don’t have all your fingers. And one kid says his mum won’t let him play with me ‘cause, ‘cause we’re freaks.” Neville sobbed again and all Peter could do was hold his child tightly.
It took until his eighth birthday for Neville to ask about his parents. Peter was honestly surprised it had taken his little boy this long, but Neville had never been especially curious.
“Uncle Peter, why do I live with you instead of my mum and dad.” Neville had looked up from his book with such a serious expression that Peter was almost scared.
“Well, Villy, they died when you were a baby. So I got you and took you home.” Peter tried to keep his voice steady, but he was so nervous he could puke. He worried with the edge of the purple couch cushion.
“So I’m an orphan?” Neville had a tremor in his voice. Peter stilled. He didn’t quite know how to answer this.
“I suppose, technically, you are. I’ve never pretended to be your parent, and I never will. I raised you and I love you, but I can’t be what you lost. I’m so sorry Neville. I should’ve told you sooner, but it just never felt like the right time.” The boy’s eyes bored into Peter’s head.
“It’s okay,” Neville said slowly, " I don't feel like an orphan. I don’t miss my parents either, I guess cause I can’t remember them. You’re my uncle, but you’re kinda like my dad too? I don’t know. I love you. Does that make me bad?” Neville moved towards Peter, wrapping his arms around his adult. Peter hugged him tightly.
“That doesn’t make you bad at all. I love you too Villy. So much. I didn’t know your parents too well, but if you ever have any questions about them I can help you find the answers.” Peter promised.
“Do I have any other family?” Neville’s voice was small, unsure. Peter never wanted him to feel like that when it came to asking questions.
“I think you have a grandmother that’s alive, you would’ve gone to her if not for me. She’s not really related to you but I have an aunt named Lydia that helped me get this house. She’s a squib and we write every so often. Besides that I don't think so, both of your parents were only children. I’m not your blood uncle, you know.”
Neville nodded. “I know you’re not related to me, but you’re still my uncle. Can I write to my grandmother? And meet your aunt?”
“We’ll see,” Peter chuckled. “I think you can meet Auntie Lydia, at least.” Neville cheered and Peter hugged his kid again, letting him go with a pat on the head. “Why don’t you go play in the garden while I make some lunch?” Neville ran off and Peter smiled as he made his way into the kitchen.
Neville got his Hogwarts letter at eleven. Peter knew he would, the young boy had been the son of two very powerful wizards, and he knew magic. He didn’t secrete magic like Sirius seemed to, or breathe it like James had. His magic was much more subtle. Delicate. It was a part of him, and Peter was thrilled that he would get to nurture that.
“Uncle Peter,” A voice broke Peter out of his thoughts. “Where are we going to get all of this stuff?” Neville frowned and held up the list with all of his Hogwarts supplies on it.
“Oh, I’ll get Auntie Lydia to take you to Diagon Alley. I’ll write to her right now.” Peter moved to get a piece of parchment and a quill.
“Diagon Alley? You’ve told me about that. It’s like a street with a bunch of shops on it, right? Why can’t you take me?” Neville looked at the list and back at Peter. “I kinda want you to be there when I get my wand.” Neville mumbled. Peter’s heart broke. He couldn’t go to Diagon Alley, being legally dead and all. Not without a good disguise, at least.
Neville was excited. He had gotten his Hogwarts letter and now he was going to Diagon Alley with his uncle to get his very own wand! He didn’t really understand why Uncle Peter was wearing a disguise, but he didn’t really question it. The trip in the floo was exciting, he had only ever floo-ed to Auntie Lydia’s before. Stepping out into the crowded street was like a dream. It was noisy, smelly, dirty, and he had not been prepared. Uncle Peter grabbed his hand tightly and warned him not to stray. Neville was not used to the hustle and bustle of more crowded areas, having been raised in a cottage in the woods near a small town. The sights, smells, and people all excited him. Too soon he and his uncle had done most of the shopping and were on their way to Olivanders.
“Ah, hello. My name is Ollivander, I see you need a wand? Going to Hogwarts this year, eh?” The grizzled old man chuckled at Neville trying to hide behind his Uncle’s legs.
“Yes sir. I’m so excited about Hogwarts, and getting to come to the alley.” Ollivander gestured for Neville to step towards him, and Neville nervously complied.
“Hmm, your father, who is he?” Ollivander nodded to Peter. “I don’t remember selling him a wand.”
“I’m his uncle, sir. My wand shouldn’t matter.” Peter sounded cross, snippy. Neville didn’t know why that would upset him, maybe because it had to be pointed out that he wasn’t Neville’s father?
“Did you raise him?” Ollivander asked.
“Well, yes, but,” Peter stuttered.
“Then it matters. What’s your wand, sir?” Ollivander stared Peter in the eyes.
“Cedar wood. Twelve and three-quarter inches, phoenix core.” Peter looked away, out the window.
“Good, good.” Ollivander pulled out a few boxes. “Try this one first.” He handed Neville a wand. When waved, the wand simply did nothing. As did the next, and the next. Neville was starting to get upset. “Hmm,” Murmured Ollivander. “Try this one, cherry wood with a unicorn hair core.” Neville looked at it for a moment before looking back at his uncle. This felt like a last chance situation, even though he knew it wasn’t. Peter smiled at him. With a gentle wave of the wand all of the boxes Ollivander had taken out floated back into their cubbies.
“Well,” Ollivander looked around, “That was helpful. And that’s your wand. I hope it gives you many good years.” Peter thanked him and paid. Neville couldn’t stop smiling as the wand was packaged and handed to him. They left the shop and turned towards Madam Malkin's robe shop.
“Was that everything you had dreamed it would be?” Peter asked. Neville nodded furiously.
“It was amazing.” He whispered as they entered the shop. Peter seemed to recoil when he saw two other men with their sons inside. One man had long blond hair and was very pale while the other had short brown hair and a tan complexion. Their sons looked very much like them and were giggling together while being fitted.
“Oh, hello! Here for a Hogwarts fitting?” An old, plump woman called. “You can just sit over where those two men are sitting and I’ll give you a hand once I’m done here.”
Peter pulled Neville over to the farthest chairs and sat down, gesturing for Neville to sit beside him. Neville looked curiously at the boys, he had never interacted with other magical children before. Only ever Muggles at the parks and the primary school Uncle Peter had insisted he be enrolled in. The boys seemed to notice his staring and looked back at him. He quickly looked away, blushing as the boys giggled.
“You there!” One said, loud in the quiet of the shop. Neville looked up at him. “Yeah, you! What’s your name?”
“Um, Neville” Uncle Peter had gone tense beside him and the dark-haired man was looking at him.
“Neville what?” The man leaned forward in his seat to look at the pair. Neville looked at his uncle. This was always a difficult question to answer. Technically it was Longbottom, but Neville liked using Pettigrew as the situation dictated. Right now, his uncle was glaring at the dark haired man, so Neville made a choice.
“I’m not supposed to tell my full name to strangers.” Neville punctuated his point by sliding closer to his uncle. The children stared at him and the blond man tried to disguise laughter behind a cough.
“But…” The dark haired man started, but Neville cut him off.
“Uncle can we go, this guy’s creepy.” Uncle Peter stared at Neville for a second, a shocked look on his face, before standing up.
“Yup kid, let’s go.” They walked out of the shop together and into the Alley. “Well, I guess I’ll get Auntie Lydia to take you for your robes later.” He looked thoughtfully across the street at a store with cages of noisy animals sitting outside. “Hey, what do you say we pick you out a pet.” Neville smiled and nodded.
It was the last week of summer and Peter knew Neville had been wondering why Peter had worn a disguise to the alley and refused to go back. He knew that if he told his kid the truth it would make things easier for both of them, but he didn’t want to shatter the boy’s trust. He had about an hour until Neville would get back from Diagon with Aunt Lydia. He looked at Remy the owl and Trevor, Neville’s toad, in his tank.
“What should I do?” Peter asked them. Remy let out a little ‘hoot’. Trevor just stared. “You’re right, I should tell him! But…”
“Tell me what?” Neville stepped out of the floo, looking inquisitive at his uncle.
“Neville! You’re home early! I thought you would be another hour.” Peter flapped his hands a bit, as he did when he was nervous.
“We finished early. What did you want to tell me?” Neville got straight to the point. Peter steeled himself.
“You should sit down.” Peter sat himself and waited for Neville to do the same. “I’m going to tell you something really important, and you’re allowed to be mad, or sad, or anything really. Just remember that I love you so much and would do anything for you.” Neville looked nervous, but nodded. “So, you know about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, right?” Neville nodded. “What you don’t know is that I used to work for him.”
“You worked for him? The, like, ultimate bad guy?” Peter nodded.
“I was a spy. I’m actually the one that gave him your parents location.” The words came out in a tumble. Neville gasped and Peter couldn’t even look at his kid. Peter’s hands were shaking. “I was allowed to look through the debris of their house first, and I found you. I knew that if I gave you up you would be killed. I couldn’t let that happen, you had my heart from the start. So I cut off my finger and spelled the debris to fall while I apparated us away. I’m legally dead. Auntie Lydia helped buy this cottage for us and retrieve my money from Gringotts. I’m so sorry.” Peter was trying so hard not to cry.
“So you’re the reason my parents are dead?” Neville looked so angry. Peter could only nod. Neville got up and walked into his room, slamming the door. Peter winced at the sound. He had f*cked this up so badly.
Neville decided to come out for dinner. He had heard his uncle moving about the kitchen, moving every dish and pot too hard. Neville knew that Uncle Peter stress baked, he had also taken up the habit. He felt a little guilty for how he had reacted, but he had never even gotten to know his parents thanks to his uncle. His uncle was still the one to raise him, to kiss his bruises and hold him during storms when he was scared. His uncle who took him out for dinner after he got his report card back, no matter what his grades were. His uncle, that faked his own death to protect Neville. He figured the least he could do was come out for dinner. Uncle Peter looked up as he came in. It was clear that he had been crying, but he smiled at him. Neville walked to the table and sat down silently. Peter placed a plate in front of him.
“Here, Vil, Neville." Uncle Peter barely looked at him.
“Thank you. I,” A pause. “I love you.” Neville looked at his uncle, so much hope in him. He was still upset, but he wanted so desperately for his uncle to understand that he still loved him.
“I love you too, Villy.” Peter smiled big and reached his hand toward Neville. Neville took it, realizing he had never thought much about how his uncle lost his finger.
“You faked your death for me?” Neville played with his uncle's fingers.
“Yeah, and I would do it all over again. As many times as it took to keep you safe.” Peter squeezed his hand, and Neville squeezed back.
“It’s not okay. I’m still mad at you. But you’re my family, and I think it can be okay, y’know. ‘Cause you’re my uncle, and we love each other.” Neville stared at their connected hands. Peter nodded, and Neville squeezed his hand. Peter squeezed back.
After Professor McGonagal read out the name Neville Longbottom-Pettigrew he could feel the eyes on him. Most of the staff members were staring at him strangely, especially the scary potions master and Headmaster Dumbledore. Neville felt like he had done something wrong. Once the hat shouted out ‘Hufflepuff’ the feeling dissipated. He went to sit with his cheering housemates, feeling happier than he could say. That night Neville wrote home to his uncle, telling him all about the train, his sorting, and the weird Ravenclaw girl he had become friends with.
“So, Pettigrew, huh?” Neville knew this boy was called Harry. “I wrote to my mum and dad about you. They used to have a friend named Pettigrew, but he was death-eater scum and now he’s dead. They want you to come to my house.” Neville was confused for a moment.
“Are you, like, inviting me over?” Neville showed his disbelief in his voice.
“Yeah, you and your parents. My parents are gonna send your folks an owl about it.” He then whisked away, leaving Neville to stand there, shocked.
“Okay then. I guess I’ll warn Uncle Peter.”
It happened over Neville’s holiday break. Snow was falling gently over the yard and Peter and his kid were snuggled in the house drinking hot cocoa and watching a movie. The knock at the door was so unexpected Neville almost spilled his cocoa.
“Coming, coming!” Peter called, putting his drink down carefully and shuffling to the door. “Hello?” He asked as he opened the door. He gasped and stumbled back. Standing there was James Potter, snow on his shoulders and wand drawn.
“Peter Pettigrew. You should’ve stayed dead.” James growled as he stalked into the house. Peter was in shock, he had hoped that his old friends would never find him, but it seemed one had.
“Wait!” Neville called, stepping between the men. “What do you want with my uncle?” Peter was almost frozen with fear, but his little boy was being so brave.
“Your uncle?” James asked. “So that's what he told you he was? Well, let me tell you something, he’s the reason your parents are dead.” Neville laughed in his face.
“I know! He told me that already. And even still he’s the best uncle I could ask for. Now, you can put your wand away and be nice or you can leave. Your choice.”
“Well,” James stuttered, lowering his wand. “I guess, Peter?” His voice went high and cracked on the last word. He looked at Peter, still frozen in place.
“Well, do you want some hot cocoa?” Peter asked nervously. He couldn’t believe that his eleven year old had stood up to the grown man. James looked between them and nodded.
Peter put Neville to bed with a kiss goodnight. He walked out to where James was sitting at the kitchen table, still sipping a cup of cocoa.
“How did you get this address?” Peter asked, voice cold.
“Doesn’t matter.” James said. “Not when you kidnapped a child! He should’ve gone to live with his grandmother, and now look at him!”
“What about him?” Peter growled, and James was shocked-silent. “He’s the bravest child I’ve ever known, and the sweetest too. You can say whatever you want about me but don’t dare speak ill of him.” Peter glared at his former friend.
“Fine. How did you even get him? The order thought you were both dead.” Peter recounted how he came to care for his son. Once the tale was done James nodded slowly.
“You are still a Deatheater, you could go to Azkaban for that.” James sighed. “I’ll talk to Dumbledore. We may be able to pull some strings and get your records changed so that you can legally be his guardian.” Peter stared at him for a moment.
“You would do that? For me?” Peter whispered.
“At first when we found out what you had done, we all wanted revenge. But now, seeing how you two interact and how clearly you love each other, I think that’s changed. For me at least. Being a parent changes you.” James smiled at him.
“Yeah,” Peter agreed. “It does.”
