A/N: This is a companion to the James Potter series. Early chapters can be read independently, but I would recommend reading the main series simultaneously. Also check out Padfoot's Story and Moony's Story.

This chapter takes place after the first week of term - roughly halfway through chapter 6 of James Potter and the Immortal Icon.

The First Choice

"Now this is a tough one."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, nothing bad. You, Peter Pettigrew, have a choice to make."

"I… I do?"

"Yes, indeed. It's clear to me that you have got a lot of potential, although you haven't come into your own just yet. Whichever House you choose can help you grow, in its own way."

"But what House would want me? I'm too stupid for Ravenclaw, too useless for Slytherin. I'm not brave enough for Gryffindor. I bet I'm too much of a duffer for Hufflepuff, even. I don't belong here."

"Well, that's just not true."

"Is so!"

"Now see here, Mr. Pettigrew. There is a place for everyone at Hogwarts."

"…Even me?"

"Especially you. I'll grant you that you haven't Slytherin's ambition or Ravenclaw's thirst for knowledge, but you would do perfectly well in either Hufflepuff or Gryffindor."

"I— really?"

"Yes. I sense in you the potential for great loyalty and great courage— if you choose to make it so. You could find good friends in Hufflepuff, could nurture that loyalty of yours, if you aren't afraid of some good old-fashioned hard work. Or perhaps Gryffindor's for you. Being around friends like that, you could find courage of your own. You could forge your own path in life. You might even surprise yourself. But the choice is yours."

"…I can choose either one?"

"Whichever you would like."

"Then… I wanna be in Gryffindor."

"I wish you the best, Peter Pettigrew. GRYFFINDOR!"

-.-.-

I don't belong here.

It was not the first time this notion had occurred to Peter since his Sorting just one week ago, but it was the first time that tears accompanied the thought.

He sat alone in the first year Gryffindor boys' dormitory. The others were all down at lunch, but Peter wasn't feeling particularly hungry at the moment. Besides, it wasn't as though anyone would miss him. He wondered if it was too late to undo his Sorting – to choose Hufflepuff instead of Gryffindor. The Hat had told him he could find friends there. Maybe not being so utterly alone would have made the past week a little less dreadful.

Peter had never been a bright boy, or a particularly talented one. He'd performed only weak accidental magic as a child, and that only very rarely, and now that he had come to Hogwarts, he found that he couldn't keep up with the workload. In Herbology, everything he touched seemed to die overnight, so even when Peter managed not to upend his seedbox, he would return a few days later to find only a few twisted brown threads poking up from the soil.

That's alright, dear, Professor Sprout had said on Thursday, the second day of classes. You'll catch on soon enough.

Three classes later, nothing had changed.

Professor Juniper had spent all of the first two Defense lessons lecturing on dark wizards and their crimes, but Peter couldn't keep any of them straight. To make matters worse, he'd spilled pumpkin juice all over his notes at lunch yesterday, so he couldn't even read over what Juniper had said about Julian the Ugly and Timothy the Cruel— Or was Timothy the ugly one, and Julian cruel? Peter couldn't remember.

Astronomy that first night had been an unmitigated disaster. Half asleep on his feet, Peter had hardly been able to focus on Professor Ruche's words. The man may as well have been speaking French for all Peter understood, and when he looked through his telescope, he didn't see planets or moons or constellations, just a lot of indistinguishable white blobs. And then his tired, clumsy hands had knocked his telescope off the tower to the ground a hundred feet below.

Transfigurations the next morning was, if possible, even worse. After one lesson, Peter knew he was completely useless at the subject. Everyone else had managed to turn the length of copper wire into thread— everyone but Peter. Professor McGonagall had held him back after class to work with him further, but still without luck. Tired and frustrated, he'd only succeeded in setting his notes on fire. Had McGonagall not managed to save them before they were totally destroyed, Peter would have just given up on Hogwarts right then.

He'd tried to stay awake during History of Magic— truly, he had. But Professor Binns had such a monotonous voice, and the things he was talking about (philosophy, Peter thought, although it might have been politics) were just so boring…

So that was yet another class he was behind in after the first week.

Charms hadn't been so bad. Peter had at least managed to light his wand with the spell Professor Flitwick had taught them, Lumos. But even so, Peter was the last to do it, and he couldn't get it to stay lit for more than a minute at a time. Meanwhile James Potter and Lily Evans seemed to be competing to see who could keep on the longest, and Sirius Black got his wand to shine so brightly Peter was still seeing spots half an hour later.

It wasn't fair!

Peter tried harder than any of them, and he still couldn't do the simplest thing right. His wand felt strange in his hand, and he could practically feel it rebelling against him every time he tried to cast a spell.

The only bright spot in all of this was Potions. There was no wandwork in Potions, no incantations to say or dates to remember. It was just following directions, and that was something even Peter could manage. Everyone else seemed to despise the class, but for Peter, the hours in the cool, quiet dungeons three times a week were like a breath of fresh air.

If only everything could be as easy as Potions.

But it wasn't, and so after another miserable Herbology lesson in the stifling greenhouses, Peter had trudged up to the dormitory, collapsed on his bed, and let his tears soak his pillow. Maybe, he thought dismally, maybe if he owled his parents, they would come get him and he could just be homeschooled. It wasn't as though he had any friends to stick around here for.

The door opened with a faint squeak.

"Oh, hello."

Remus Lupin stood for a moment in the doorway, looking immensely uncomfortable, before he hurriedly crossed to his bed and busied himself digging through his school bag. He was gracious enough to pretend not to notice as Peter scrubbed his tear-streaked face and found a tissue to blow his nose.

After a moment, Remus shot a surreptitious glance his way. "Are… are you alright?"

Peter tensed, waiting for the ridicule, but Remus sounded apologetic as he hastened on.

"It's only… I noticed you weren't at lunch, and I wondered if you weren't feeling well…"

"I wasn't hungry."

The empty words hung in the air, and Peter had the impression that Remus saw straight through his evasive answer. The other boy's eerie golden eyes studied him for a long moment before turning back to his bag.

"I see."

Pulling out several books from his bag, Remus turned to his desk and began putting them back in place. Peter watched silently, an idea forming in the back of his mind. Remus was one of the brighter students in their year; though he wasn't as show-offish as people like James and Sirius, Remus had been among the first to master the spells Professors Flitwick and McGonagall had taught them.

Would he be willing to help Peter?

Peter bit his lip, afraid to ask. What if Remus made fun of him? The other boys already snickered whenever he spilled potting soil in Herbology, or when he stuttered and fumbled his way through answering Professor Juniper's questions. They all thought he was useless and stupid. Why should Remus be any different?

But Remus had noticed Peter's absence at lunch when no one else had. Remus had seen him crying like a baby just now and hadn't said anything.

Maybe Remus was different.

"H-hey, Remus?"

Remus looked up from the book he'd been reading. "Yes?"

"I…" Peter found a discolored spot on his crimson bedspread and fixed his eyes there. "Well, er, I was wondering… That is, I was hoping… I – er – I need help."

He bit his lip, waiting for the mockery, the derisive laughter. Instead—

"With what?"

The question was kind, mildly curious. Not at all what Peter had expected. He risked a glance at Remus, who had set his book aside, before returning his gaze to the bedspread.

"With… everything?" With a weak smile, Peter shrugged helplessly. "I don't get it— any of it. I can't tell the difference between Saturn and Altair— I can't remember the half of what the professors tell us— I can't do magic worth a knut!" He buried his face in his hands. "I'm a complete duffer!"

"No, you're not!"

At Remus' sharp tone, Peter sucked in his breath and looked up nervously. Remus himself looked a little abashed at the outburst and when he continued, it was in a much softer voice.

"You aren't. Look at Potions. You're better than most of our year!"

"You really think so?"

"Absolutely." Studying Peter for another long moment, Remus nodded. "How about this: I'll help you out with spells and studying and what-not— on one condition."

Peter was almost afraid to ask. "What's that?"

"You help me with Potions." Remus grimaced. "I'm complete rubbish at it… Deal?"

A smile spread across Peter's face as he nodded vigorously, thinking that maybe – just maybe – he might have made the right decision, after all. Maybe he could find friends, courage, and happiness in Gryffindor. Maybe he belonged at Hogwarts, after all.

"Deal!"