Author's Note: The sorting hat's dialogue is in italics. This work is purely fictional and all characters are the property of JKR
The Sorting:
September 1st, 1971
"Pettigrew, Peter", called out the stern looking Professor Mcgonagall, her expression indicating that she had no time to waste.
A short, plump, blonde-haired boy stepped out of the line, stumbling a little after an enthusiastic pat on the back by his slightly taller, bespectacled, messy haired year-mate who was next in the line. Sweat pouring down his face, he forced himself to be quicker and collapsed on to the stool. The professor placed the hat on his head, just after he saw his new friends from the train "Black, Sirius" and "Lupin, Remus" waving at him from the Gryffindor table which they had joined a few minutes ago. The sight made him slightly less nervous.
Ah, so, Peter Pettigrew, all you want is for someone to appreciate you, not look down upon you.
'Er, are you the Hat?' Peter thought, feeling slightly silly.
Well, of course! Who else would I be? So let me see, not Ravenclaw, that's for certain… Hufflepuff would be fine but I have a feeling you would fit better elsewhere... Ambition, I see a thirst to prove that you are not worthless, cunning as well; yes Slytherin would be right for you. What do you say?
For one moment, the prospect of greatness, of proving himself seemed very appealing to Peter. Being a pureblood, he would not have much trouble if he went to Slytherin. But the next instant three faces swam before his eyes- confident, kind James, who had invited Peter to sit with him, mischievous and fun-loving Sirius who had cheered him up when he had lamented that he was little more than a squib and quiet Remus, who had offered to help him with classes. In that instant his decision was made. Feeling bolder than he had ever had before, he spoke to the hat.
'No, thank you. I'd rather be in Gryffindor with my friends, than have power. And if you can't put me there, perhaps I should not attend Hogwarts.'
For one heart-stopping moment, the hat was silent; he thought he had gone too far, that the hat would refuse to sort him. And then,
Very Well, Peter Pettigrew, I can only hope that in future you will make the same choices. Better be
"GRYFFINDOR"
