A/N: I always wondered why Peter Pettigrew was Sorted into Gryffindor, since he always prowled around with friends that could protect him and, eventually, ended up with Voldemort. So this is my (pathetic) attempt at trying to figure out why on earth the Sorting Hat would place him in Gryffindor. If you read, review. Constructive criticism is always welcome. x
"Perry, Michael." A dark-haired, heavily freckled boy nervously made his way up to his way up to the Sorting Hat. He placed it on his head with a gulp, and the Hat slipped over his eyes.
Peter Pettigrew was hardly paying attention. He knew that his name would be coming soon, and he was sweating an unnatural amount for an eleven-year-old. He jumped as a sudden explosion reached his ears—but no, it wasn't an explosion, only tumultuous applause from the Ravenclaw table, and polite clapping from all of the others, as Michael Perry raced over to his fellow Ravenclaws, a huge grin on his face.
"Pettigrew, Peter," called the tall, stern-looking teacher. Peter took a shaky breath and a step forward. He tried to look calm as he made his way up to the Sorting Hat, his heart thumping wildly. Surely everyone could hear it; they were all watching him. He fought down a wave of nervous nausea as he picked up the Hat and sat on the stool. He forcefully put the Sorting Hat on his head, hoping that it would give him a boost of confidence.
"Intriguing," a voice murmured in his ear, "you have the willingness to do whatever it takes to make yourself happy…" That sounded alarmingly like Slytherin to Peter. He gripped the stool that he was sitting on tightly.
Please, he begged, let me be in Gryffindor. He thought of those boys on the train—James, Sirius, and Remus. They were so cool. Sirius and Remus had already been Sorted into Gryffindor. I'd do anything to be their friends, Peter said mentally to the Hat, then added, and please don't put me in Hufflepuff.
"You don't want to be like your Hufflepuff father or your Slytherin mother…" the Hat mused. Peter concentrated on one thought. Gryffindor, Gryffindor.
"You would excel working alongside Slytherins," the Hat tried to reason with him. But no one likes them! Peter thought fiercely, frightened that the Sorting Hat had perhaps decided to put him in Slytherin. I want to be liked. I want to have popular friends. The Sorting Hat seemed troubled.
"I cannot place where you do not wish to be placed," it said slowly, "and placing you in Ravenclaw…oh, what a disaster that would be…" The Sorting Hat shuddered on Peter's head, and he gripped the stool harder than before; he imagined his knuckles were white by now. Gryffindor, Gryffindor! he pleaded. The Sorting Hat sighed quietly, wearily.
"There may come a time when you will have to be brave, though perhaps not in the way that you think now," warned the Hat. I don't care, thought Peter impatiently. "All I ask," continued the Hat, "is that you carefully weigh your choices, when that time comes, and that you make the right choice." Peter grinned—he was going to be in Gryffindor! The Hat seemed to take in a deep breath.
"GRYFFINDOR!" It bellowed. Peter ripped off the old hat, beaming. He jumped up, excitedly replaced the Sorting Hat on the stool, and ran over to the table of applauding Gryffindors. He plopped down by Remus Lupin, who smiled and congratulated him. On the other side of Remus was Sirius Black, who only turned to evaluate Peter once "Pixley, Eileen" had the Sorting Hat on her head. Peter tried not to cower under the other boy's scrutinising, haughty gaze. Sirius quickly broke into a grin and laughed.
"Congrats, mate," he said, reaching behind Remus and slapping Peter on the back.
When James Potter joined the trio, Peter was glowing on the inside. He had somehow made friends with the most popular boys in school. He belonged in Gryffindor; everyone would now be able to see that. Gryffindor, Gryffindor.
Less than a decade later, Peter forgot everything that the Sorting Hat had ever said to him; and he made a choice. Not one that he would regret, no, but one that would save his life.
Sneering at Sirius, whose face was contorted with anguish, Peter Pettigrew changed into a rat and disappeared into the sewers.
Kay. You read it. Now review. You get a teenage Sirius if you do.