October 2nd 1981
I’m so sick of this war. I was meant to be a department head in the ministry by this point. Dad’s connections would have ensured it. Instead I’m stuck fighting. I’m not a fighter! There’s a reason my animagus form is a rat. I just want to run and hide when things get tough.
Not that I can say any of this to anybody. They’re all so excited to be doing this. So noble, so valiant. I can just imagine if I tried to mention this to James,
“Oh but Wormy! Isn’t it great to have a purpose? To be able to help those less privileged than we were, than we are.”
Or Sirius,
“Don’t be a coward Wormtail. You’re a rat, not a mouse” (cue hysterical giggling).
Remus is probably most likely to get it, but even he would tell me that we have to keep fighting. But it’s ok for him. For all of them. I’m the least useful member of the Order by far. I’m not clever, or brave, or good at dueling. I’m just… me.
I think I’m going to go and heat up another pumpkin pasty.