What the hell am I doing here?

"Peter?" Mary's voice sounded off.

He looked up from his knitting, his hands continuing even though he wasn't looking at it, "Yes?"

"I think we should break up," she muttered.

He stared at her, his hands stopping instantly.

He couldn't believe what she said, but at the same time it wasn't entirely surprising. He knew that this would happen. It would eventually happen, it had to. He was not worthy enough to even be in her presence.

He was a stalker, a weirdo. Someone much lesser than the common human.

She was a goddess, perfect, lovely in every way. Someone much greater than the common human.

She was a work of art, so naturally she would want to be with other works of art.

Someone better than him. She deserved better than him. She should be with someone better than him.

He couldn't survive without her. He was nothing without her. Just a useless bag of flesh with nothing to his name. She was the only possession he owned that made him worth something. She completed him. He needed her.

In desperation he launched himself at her, grabbing her and holding her.

He couldn't lose her. He couldn't lose her. He wouldn't lose her. She was his. He was hers. They needed each other. He needed her. He couldn't survive without her.

He could feel her trembling in his hands. He stared her in the eye.

Her eyes were filled with fear, "Let me go." Her voice was trembling almost as much as she was, but she did not break eye contact.

He released her, stepping back. He was an idiot. That was the stupidest thing he could've done. He would never convince her to come back to him now.

He had lost her. He couldn't exist without her.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" She choked out, her eyes flooding with tears.

He looked down, he had truly wronged her.

He would never be able to forgive himself. He was the worst person imagineable. He had hurt her. He had scared her. It was at this moment, Peter Pettigrew realized he had turned into a monster. Or perhaps he had always been a monster and it was just waiting to pop up. His personality was just starting to reveal himself, and he had to say he despised who he was.

Mary crossed her arms, "I want you out of the house for twenty minutes while I get my things. You can come back after that, but I won't be here."

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

She shook her head, "Stay away from me. Don't bother coming to look for me. I never want to see you again."

He disapparated after hearing those words, his mind not focusing that clearly on a spot.

He collapsed to the ground in front of whatever house he had arrived at. Not caring about his own safety, not checking to see if there were Death Eaters around.

He didn't care. His life was meaningless without Mary. And he would never get her back.

But he had no idea how true that would be.