To begin with, our perception of the world is deformed, incomplete. Then our memory is selective. Finally, writing transforms.
~Claude Simon
Chapter Two
A Nice Family Outing
"Hurry along now, Peter. Your dad took the morning off of work so he could come with us and we don't want to waste any time. Your father does need to head into the office today! His work is extremely important!" Peter's mum gently prodded him as he sat at the table picking at the remains of his breakfast.
When Peter had woken up that morning, he'd been excited about the day. He'd been looking forward to it for weeks. Ever since his Hogwarts letter with that year's supply list had been delivered. There was nothing particularly exciting about his list, mostly just the same books as last year, but a level higher. It wouldn't be until the following year that he got different classes. But the supplies themselves weren't really what had excited Peter. That was the letter itself. Its arrival meant Peter's return to Hogwarts was just around the corner.
Almost as soon as they had arrived back at King's Cross station and separated, Peter had missed his friends. His father valued success more than anything else. He set extremely high standards for his family to ensure the Pettigrew's name continued to be associated with hard work and upward movement and may, one day, be considered one of the great wizarding families. If Peter was unable to meet these standards and contribute to the family's positive reputation, his father got extremely angry. One such standard that Peter had failed to meet was in his schoolwork. When the elder Peter Pettigrew, his father, was at school, he'd been near the top in all of his classes; the younger Peter was pretty much at the bottom. His father hadn't been pleased about that.
If Peter had to choose between home and school, he would have his bags packed in a heartbeat. At school, his friends didn't care about Peter's shortcomings. In fact, they tried to help him improve, not beat him because he wasn't already perfect. James, Sirius, and Remus made Peter feel welcome, safe, and like he could be himself. The same couldn't be said for his home.
"What's wrong?" his father snapped, slamming down his fork. "Your mother worked hard on this breakfast! It's delicious! Why aren't you eating it? Are you trying to make me late? I have an extremely important meeting this afternoon and if you make me miss it, you will feel the consequences." There was a pregnant silence that punctuated his words. He gave Peter a mean, scowling look that made the young boy shrink back in slight fear. His father then returned to wolfing down his breakfast. Peter quickly began eating his food, worried what his father would do.
Peter was a short boy. He had a more rotund frame that his mum gushingly referred to as baby fat. His face was round, and curtained by light brown hair that fell to just passed the top of his ears. His eyes were small, and a very light blue. His mother, who was bustling around the kitchen, looked almost exactly like her son, though her hair was a lighter, sunnier blonde. Peter's father was nearly the opposite of his mother, who was all warm curves and lightness. He was dark. Black hair and large black eyebrows framed dark brown, almost black, piercing eyes. His face was composed of harsh angles making him appear perpetually angry, which was usually his emotional state anyway.
When he'd woken up that morning, Peter had been excited about the trip to Diagon Alley to buy his school supplies. His mother had decided that it would be best to visit the wizarding shopping district on a weekday because it would be less busy. To Peter, that had meant that the trip would be conducted without his father, as he would have to work. Then, that morning his father had informed the rest of the small Pettigrew family that he had taken the morning off and would be joining them. To the elder Pettigrew, the luxury of a morning to go shopping with the family was a marker of success so strong that he couldn't pass it up.
Peter's heart had dropped and his appetite had disappeared. Having his father along would change the trip from a relaxing, enjoyable experience to one in which Peter stressed about every move he made and action he took. If he messed up in any way that his father could interpret as going against the perfect family, Peter would have to pay for it later.
"Maybe he took to much," his mother bravely chimed in. "He has already eaten a lot. Peter, how about you clear your plate and go wash up? Then we can head out." She smiled warmly at Peter, and then turned to her husband to see his reaction. The elder Pettigrew continued eating, which Peter knew meant he had no objections. As quietly and quickly as possible, Peter collected his dishes and headed to the kitchen.
When Peter was younger, it hadn't been as bad. His father was still angry a lot, and over small, relatively insignificant things, but his anger was rarely directed at Peter. He had been an innocent child. He had been someone who could essentially do nothing wrong. Then Peter grew up. He got older, less innocent-appearing, and began developing his magic. And it was as if a switch had gone in his father. Suddenly, the young boy who could do no wrong became the young man who could only do wrong. All Peter wanted to do was impress his father, but it seemed that he was completely incapable of such a thing.
"Ready," Peter spoke softly. He stood in the doorway of the dinning room. He was wearing the best set of robes he owned and had carefully combed and parted his hair so it looked exactly like his father's. His mother, who had been busy cleaning up in the kitchen, cast a spell so things would finish without her. His father was still sitting at the table, eating. But, a quick glance at his watch made him stand, his plate left on the table for his wife to tidy.
"You better not do anything to upset me today, boy," the older Pettigrew spoke, clasping Peter by the back of the neck. Peter hoped the same thing as the crushing blackness of apparation enveloped him.
It didn't take Peter's father long to get upset, though luckily it wasn't at Peter. The Pettigrew's first stop had been Flourish and Blotts; most of the new supplies Peter needed were books. So, as soon as the trio had apparated and entered Diagon Alley, they had headed to the bookstore. It was a small space with books crammed into ever possible nook and cranny. Luckily, the supply of Hogwarts' books was displayed clearly on the floor.
"Okay, Pete," his mother spoke, a look of determination on her face, "let's see what we need to pick up!" She held out her hand and Peter gave her a piece of parchment that had come with his letter. His father had wandered off into a different section of Flourish and Blotts, preferring to spend his precious time on his own pursuits.
Elizabeth 'Betty' Pettigrew looked over the list, then began moving around the stacks of books. When she found a desired volume, she would pull it off the pile and place it in Peter's arms. The stack of books that Peter was carrying quickly grew and he began to shake under the weight.
"Excuse me," Betty suddenly called out. Her brows were furrowed and she was looking for the proprietor of the shop, or even just someone who worked there. A squat man came quickly at her call, as did Peter's father.
"Yes, ma'am. How may I be of assistance?" the shopkeeper asked, a cheery smile on his face.
"Well, I'm here shopping for my son's second year at Hogwarts. I've almost got all of his required books, but I can't seem to find a copy of The Standard Book of Spells, Level 2. It is quite an important book, as I'm sure you are aware." Her voice was calm and cheery. The proprietor's face fell slightly at her words.
"Ah. Well, you see, we had a slight mishap with our ordering this year. Apparently, instead of ordering The Standard Book of Spells, Level 2, we ordered twice as many copies of The Standard Book of Spells, Level 3. The mistake was only noticed a few days ago and we've put in the appropriate order, but we're still waiting for the deliver-"
"WHAT?" the extremely irate voice of Mr. Pettigrew cut off the apologetic store keeper.
"You don't have ANY books? What are we supposed to do then? Send our son off ill-prepared? He's already struggling as it is! Incredibly thick, he is! And you expect us to handicap him further?" As Mr. Pettigrew yelled, he got closer and closer to the shopkeeper, who had begun to shake under the pressure of the angry man. Mr. Pettigrew was about the same height as the squat shopkeeper, but he was still able to effectively intimidate the man.
"Of course we do not wish to disadvantage your son!" the proprietor squeaked. "If you put your name and address down, we will send you a copy, free of charge, as soon as we get the books in. Which should be less than a week." The trembling man held out a quill and roll of parchment for Mr. Pettigrew to take. Instead, the angry man stormed out of the store. Mrs. Pettigrew stepped up and took the quill, looking extremely apologetic. She quickly scribbled down her information, paid for the books she had picked out earlier, and then hurried out of the store after her husband. An extremely embarrassed Peter followed on her heel.
'Why?' he thought as his father stormed down the street, 'why did he have to come?'
The rest of the shopping trip, thankfully, was not as eventful as the stop at Flourish and Blotts. However, Mr. Pettigrew was still seething. He was upset, on edge, and completely willing to take it out on anyone who so much as looked at him the wrong way. Peter and his mother were used to this mood in the elder Peter. They knew how to avoid setting him off further; the shopkeepers of Diagon Alley, unfortunately, did not.
"These lacewing flies look extremely small! Are you trying to rip us off?" he snapped at the poor clerk at the potion supply shop. The petite, almost pixie-like girl shook at the intense gaze of the elder Peter. Her eyes, already large, grew even bigger and began to fill with tears.
"Tha-that's the standard size, sir," she tried to explain, but was only met with the angry, piercing gaze of the elder Pettigrew. "Bu-but, I can check in the back! See, see if we have anything larger!" The pixie-like shop girl's response came out as more of a squeak, and she turned quickly on her heel and scampered away. Peter strongly suspected that she wasn't looking for larger lacewings, but was just hiding from the Pettigrews.
As his father continued to seethe, his mother moved quickly around the shop picking up the standard potion supplies Peter needed, as well as some things she needed. She shot apologetic looks at some of the other shopkeepers, as if she were somehow to blame for her husband's poor behaviour.
Mr. Pettigrew had also blown up at an unsuspecting dress maker because Madame Malkin was away that day and couldn't make Peter's robes herself. He'd yelled at the proprietor of the stationary store because his favourite quills were out of stock. Much to Peter's horror, his father had even gotten upset when they'd gone for something to eat and his sandwich dripped slightly on his pants. Obviously, the shop had put on too many condiments and Mr. Pettigrew had promptly returned to the counter and demanded a refund.
It was all getting to be too much for Peter and he couldn't wait until his father took his leave of them. Then maybe, Peter and his mother could salvage their day, make something out of it.
In an attempt to distract himself, Peter began to watch the people that passed him and his family as they made their way along the streets of Diagon Alley. It was fairly quiet, much as the Pettigrews' had hoped visiting mid-week that it would be. The lack of a crowd allowed them to move through the streets and shops, but it didn't provide Peter with a lot of distracting stimuli.
Most of the people were just hurrying from one shop to another, quickly buying their needed supplies before returning home or to work. No one was really doing anything all that interesting. Peter was just about to give up and resign himself to the next half-hour or so passing excruciatingly slowly, when a dark figure caught his eye.
It was a boy, about Peter's age, though taller and slimmer. He had long, greasy-looking hair as if it hadn't been washed in quiet some time. From his side view, Peter could see the boy's prominent hook nose. The robes he wore, all black, were baggy like they were several sizes to big. They were also dirty and ripped in places. They boy was standing next to a tall woman with elegant features and wearing what was at one time elegant robes but were now more torn and patched than anything.
'Snape.' Peter thought as he focused on the boy and the woman. The pairs' facial similarity made Peter assume they were mother and son. 'I guess his wardrobe isn't some sort of strange fashion choice.' It was obvious to Peter, by the previous state of Mrs. Snape's robes, that the family at one time had a fair amount of wealth. It was wealth that Peter's father was desperately trying to attain. However, it was also obvious, by the current state of both Mrs. Snape's and Severus' robes, that the family was now completely broke. They had even less money than the fairly poor Pettigrew's had.
As Peter watched, Mrs. Snape turned from the small kiosk she'd been standing in front of and focused on her son. Peter was too far away to hear what was said, but Peter could tell from her face and her posture that she was not pleased with her son. She wasn't yelling, Peter would have heard the words, but her teeth were clenched and the veins in her forehead were clearly evident. Peter instantly recognized the classic signs of rage.
Snape appeared to shrink back from his mother, as if he were afraid that her verbal assault would turn physical. Peter knew that feeling, felt almost a visceral reaction to seeing the same thing that often happened to him happen to someone else. Snape's mother must have been similar in character and disposition to his father.
Where his father wanted to obtain fame, fortune, and notoriety, Snape's mother was desperately clinging to old notions of such things. With neither of them successful in the achievement of their desires, they took their resulting anger out on their young sons.
However, instead of experiencing sympathy with the Slytherin at their shared problems, at the trauma that both boys most likely experienced, Peter pocketed the information. James' and Sirius' distaste of the Slytherin had so coloured Peter to the point that seeing someone else being so poorly treated didn't trigger a desire to comfort, but a desire to exploit. Peter could use this information; it could easily be fuel for the Gryffindor quartet's taunting and pranking. James, Sirius, and even Peter could definitely do some damage with that knowledge.
