chapter snippets?? behind the scenes/first drafts of tcoptp

The winner takes it all - Peter

Peter

The stage is bright, like most are, but Peter is blinded. He never is.

The crowd screams, they rip through Peter's chest all bitter and cold. They pull him inside out.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

He supposes this is the first time he realized that. The mic in his sweaty palm falls to the floor and it carries his head with him.

Waves. It crashes in waves.

There are bugs crawling through Peter's skin. He feels everything. He can feel the sweaty sticky hair on his head, and the organs in his stomach. He feels all mushy and gross and sticky. Peter has the intense desire to rip it all off. To rub his skin raw and to flush out his insides.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

His chest heaves and he looks through his hair—now grown out—to the crowd. The cameras are shooting right through him and he feels all naked.

Peter imagines what it would be like if all of his clothes were ripped off. Stripped bare. Left out for thousands to see. He supposes it would feel just like this.

The whispers, the voices. They are always there. Never left and never will. After all, he started this didn't he?

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

The news is flooded with Peter's actions, with Peter's words. He wasn't supposed to regret it. He was doing the right thing.

Tom had said to Peter once that it would be for the better. And oh. Oh how convincing that was.

It's only when it's silent that Peter snaps back to the present. It's only when he feels a hand on his shoulder that his body decides to follow through.

A hand grabs his and he resists the strong urge to throw up right then and there. Then another, on his other hand, and his arms are lifted up into a bow.

He tries to smile, he really does, but his face wont let him. He feels like his brain isn't communicating with his body. Or maybe it's the other way around.

"Thank you."

It's as quick as that and Peters back in the blinding lights of the dressing room.

It doesn't feel right. It doesn't feel the way he thought it would. He was supposed to be at ease. Happy. But he isn't.

James is supposed to be humming their songs and packing up his guitar. Remus is supposed to be going through all of the letters and documents. Sirius is supposed to be posing for photos on the most brightly lit wall. Regulus should already be looking back at the footage and taking notes.

And Peter. What should Peter be doing?

Throughout Peter's whole career he has never been seen. Not really. Sure, the Marauders saw him, but that was a given.

Peter has never won something truly on his own.

He was the one taking the photos. He was the one to document it all. Record it for company so maybe when Peters feels really alone he can listen back on it.

But what has Peter done?

Now here it is, the glory. Flashing cameras and bright, warm, stage lights. For some reason, Peter doesn't feel whole. Not really.

With every interview and every promotion. With every performance he feels he is leaving pieces of himself behind. Like a relic. Waiting to be found.

Peter spreads himself out and prays nothing ever goes too far. He smiles when the camera hits him and he says all the right things at all the right times but it doesn't feel the same. It doesn't feel right. Not really.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

But there it is. He won.

The Marauders are out of the picture. Simply put, disbanded. And here is Peter. At the top of the world.

It bubbles up inside him. It rises through him, creeps up his throat, and it holds him tight.

And for the first time, Peter has no words to say.