Celebrations abounded; everyone who'd stayed for the holidays packed into the great hall for the plentiful Christmas feast. Peter had paused, searching the thin crowds for the inky heads he so adored-
He didn't recognize the hallway he'd stumbled into. The air was a little colder here; biting sharply at his exposed skin like wintry wolves. Must be an exterior hall- stained windows, propped open to allow the fresh night breeze in, displayed mottled black clouds pregnant with snow and ice.
The portraits watched with sharp interest as he scurried through the darkened corridor, but none called out to him. Most simply observed; few would actively engage you like the Fat Lady. Like the ghosts. Peter didn't like ghosts. They chilled his skin and kept him awake at night, waiting for them to drift through the bedroom walls and stare down at him with their empty, silvery eyes. It was easier to hide behind James' quiet acceptance or Sirius' cheeky bravado than it was to discourse with them on his own. And really, when either of them were around, who would pay much attention to Peter at all?
The common room was empty but warm thanks to a crackling fire stoked in the fireplace. Peter took the boys' dormitory stairs two at a time, eager to discover the place his friends had seemingly sequestered themselves. He knew what the other students said about him. How cruelly they teased him, how nasty they could be. But he would grin and bear it, if it meant closer proximity to the young men of Gryffindor. He'd bear the taunts of suck-up and brown nose for James' quick smiles, or Sirius' whip-crack humor. He'd bear the animosity of almost total strangers for Remus' sweet dark eyes, so heavy with the secret he bore. They were addictive. He thought about them when they were separated, and shadowed them when they were present. Simply up and leaving their close-knit group would be akin to 'quitting' breathing, so desperately was it that he needed their attention.
Peter could hear soft voices and lovers' laughter. He turned on his heel as fresh heat sprang to his face, unwilling to face a situation he was ill-suited to appreciate. But he had misjudged the source of the sound, and down the dimly lit hallway he next passed two figures flickered to life just outside a ring of yellow torchlight. They were a ways beyond Peter's location, but the gleaming moonlight hair clued him quickly. Malfoy.
The moment he opened the door was the moment the world shattered to pieces around him. The tinkling noise it made as its shards hit the floor may just as well have been the pieces of Peter's cracking glass heart.
Lucius was a handsome seventh year with a mercurial temper. He had been fodder for Peter's dependent personality in the beginning, but he was as apt to lash out at Peter as he was to cosset his young lackey. That kind of quicksilver affection was attractive to some, but not to Peter. At least not now. When he was older, perhaps.
Of course he'd choosen this deserted outer hallway to conduct his seductions. Nothing to disturb him- them. His companion was a beautiful and stately young women with hair as silver as his. It was she who saw him first, turning her head to locate the source of the movement that had caught her eye. Peter backpedaled quickly before she could catch proof of his emotional duress. But Lucius was slightly quicker in recognition, spurred first by irritation at this unforeseen interruption and then by his desire to disrupt and pervert anything associated with his archrivals and Gryffindors in turn. "Peter?" he called genially. "Pettigrew?" He had been leaning one arm against the wall before the girl, asserting dominance through primitive physical localities. Now he straightened, craning his elegant neck to catch sight of short, stout Peter once again. "Pett- Peter; out so late? Come here, lad. Let me see you." His interest was piqued; apparently he'd scented some distress Peter experienced. It was never in one's best interests to blatantly disregard a Malfoy; Sirius did it occasionally for fun and James frequently for the thrill, but Peter did it now out of pure malicious spite. He slipped back into the shadows beyond the pair and kept his mouth shut. He could hear Lucius' voice sharpening on the topic of his returned presence, but it faded gradually as Peter took the next stone staircase he saw and put some distance between them. The air was colder and Peter was more despondent now than ever. He found the place his legs could go no farther and sank down to the floor in a puddle of frigid darkness and heatless gray stone. Salty drops so blistering in his eyes formed half-frozen droplets on the slate about him.
"J-James?" Peter sputtered. "Sirius?" James sat upright quickly, flushed with embarrassment and pleasure.
"Peter. What are you doing her- "
"Beat it, Pete. We're busy." Sirius didn't change his pose, but he turned his head to display a shapely aristocrat profile gifted to most with the blood of Black in their veins. Peter ducked his head and swallowed, mind whirring as it processed the shock. He looked to openly blushing James for some corner and found only a slight shrug from the usually gregarious young man. "PETER! BEAT it! MY God, can't you find something better to do than dog us for ONE damn hour?" Sirius' recriminations followed Peter as he backed out of the room and stumbled backwards down the dormitory stairs. They echoed in his ears long after he'd quit the common room and the entire floor altogether.
Sirius and James. Best friends. Classmates. Lovers? Peter pressed both hands to his eyes and did his best to stifle a dejected sob; a thread of cry broke from between his fingers and echoed eerily down the icy hall. The sun-flare of animosity in Sirius' voice had been closer to something expected of Lucius Malfoy...not smart, strong, CLEVER Sirius, whom Peter had so come to admire these last few years at Hogwarts. If anyone came to grace Sirius' bed, it should be Peter- Peter, who would do ANYTHING for even the slightest wisp of attention from the rangy ladykiller. ANYTHING. But in the same instant, he acknowledged the draw of James Potter. James' flair wasn't so brilliant as Sirius', or even Remus'...but it was still there. It was low, and hot, and strong. It was what drew people to him, and made them TRUST in him. Like sassy Ingrid from Potions, or that pretty redheaded Lily from Divinations. Even, Peter whispered to himself as he licked dry lips, even Sirius. A slow burn started in Peter then. It erupted from some place deep inside of him, uncurling into his throat and searing away the sobs that threatened to choke him silent. Tendrils of misplaced anger found and tightened upon the unwelcome feature of beautiful Sirius' distraction; suddenly a simple CAUSE became an all-consuming REASON...and a lifetime of degradation and impotent fury found a name and a face about which to center.
James Potter. JAMES' fault. It was all James. So help him GOD, he'd find a way to make POtter pay. All he needed...were the TOOLS. Stone grated upon stone, and a square of not-so-dark separated from the shadows to Peter's left. He sprang up and backed away as a hot tide of adrenaline pulled him under. And then everything became clear. Why it was so COLD down here...why Lucius and the icy beauty Narcissa had been lurking so conveniently only a few halls away...where he'd wandered, and where he must now be. The one place farthest from Gryffindor and the scene of his extreme humiliation he could possibly get. The very portal to the Slytherins' common room.
"Pettigrew?" a rather nasal voice drawled, pronouncing it like a particularly offensive word. "Suh-suh-severus?" Peter whispered, trying and failing horribly at holding back miserable little sobs. Severus frowned, but it was a frown of confusion rather than annoyance. The intimacy of a first-name basis, devoid of any humiliating nickname or verbal attack, threw him off-guard. "Pe- ter, right? Peter Pettigrew?" Youth lent Severus the slightest shred of reproach that was so often abandoned in maturity. He allowed himself to soften towards the unhappy little wretch before him. "What are you doing here?"
"I...uh...went for a walk. I'm suh-sorry. I didn't mean to bother you." Peter stepped back and groped for an excuse to leave.
"Wait!" Severus ordered, steeping fully out of the Slytherin common room and into the hallway that framed the porthole of a shifted painting. "You're obviously...overset. What happened to you?" When it became obvious that Peter would be unforthcoming, Severus advanced. "Was it something one of your...'frienddsss' did to you?"
"N-no." Peter whispered. He was lying and Snape KNEW he was lying, and they stopped to regard each other for a brief moment. Blatant dislike faded minutely from Snape's face, replaced by a spark of kinship between two individuals equally abused by the Popular and the Self-Confident.
"Do you...want to come in? For awhile?" Severus asked, stepping back to expose the gloomy entrance into Slytherin's green-and-black common room.
Peter gawked. "You- you would- "
"There's no one else here. Everyone's either gone home or at the feast; they probably won't be back for hours. I doubt if Lucius will come back TODAY."
But Peter still resisted. "Will it- let me- come in? Get in, I mean?"
"If you're invited. And I...invite you." Snape slung an arm out awkwardly, inviting Peter closer in a manner he seldom used. It was cold and Peter was lonely, and even the companionship of a much-hated rival was better than the thoughts that would hold court in his mind if he left to be alone. His nervous lurch forward was as ungainly as Snape's offer of comfort, but they managed as best they could. IF Peter had been just a little more alive...if he'd had his head about him, rather than the blind emotional flail he'd allowed himself to indulge in...if he bore even the slightest fraction of the natural observance which graced James or even Remus...he would have noticed the slight, dark shape marring Severus' lower arm. An oddly shaped blemish; like an inky black scar...or a birthmark...or even a tattoo...