Peter: 1 September, 1971
Peter Pettigrew awoke to a crash. After all these years, he didn't have to ask what the crash was. He braced himself for the sound he knew he would hear next. He closed his eyes as his mother's screams ripped through the house, followed immediately by his father's voice. Peter closed his eyes and wished he were somewhere else. He rolled over to look at the clock. It was seven in the morning. "Couldn't she at least wait until a decent hour?" Peter wondered to himself as he rolled out of bed and stumbled down the hall to his parents' room.
Peter stood in their doorway watching the scene unfold. His mother was screaming at the top of her voice and methodically throwing her belongings against the walls. She had been doing well lately; it had been weeks since her last meltdown. Still, Peter always knew it was too good to last. He just wondered why it had to be today of all days. Today was the day Peter would be going to Hogwarts. He knew his father would never want to leave his mother alone now. He'd probably put Peter on the Knight Bus and send him to King's Cross Station all by himself. Sometimes Peter thought she did these things on purpose.
"It's all right, Delilah," Peter's father, Emory, said. He took items from her hand, but she was picking them up more quickly than he could rescue them. Peter watched, frozen to the spot. She picked up a music box and spun, tossing it at the door. It shattered inches above Peter's head. Peter ducked, throwing his arms over his face as porcelain rained down on him.
"Peter, get out of here," Emory shouted. Peter took a step out into the hall, but he did not leave. He continued to watch, transfixed, as his mother methodically smashed her things. Finally, Emory restrained her.
"Stop, Delilah. You have to stop," he ordered. She began to sob, and Peter knew she was spent. Her knees collapsed beneath her and she fell to the ground, pulling Emory along with her.
"I just want to die!" She wailed. "Why won't you just let me die?"
Peter closed his eyes against the sound of his mother's cries. There was a time when he hated to hear her cry. There was a time when he would cry himself when he heard her say she wanted to die, but somewhere in his life, something broke in him, and now he only thought that if she wanted to die so badly, she should get on with it and let Peter and his father move forward with their lives. For six years, Peter had been trapped by his mother's private grief, and he had given her all of the energy he had to give.
Peter returned to his own room. If she was crying about wanting to die, he knew the excitement was past. Peter dressed quickly. Then he opened his trunk for the thousandth time, checking to be sure it was still packed. He had packed it weeks ago, so eager was he to go to school. Hogwarts would be his ticket out of this life, he knew. At Hogwarts, things would finally be good for him. At Hogwarts, everyone wouldn't always be too busy for him. At Hogwarts, he would be appreciated.
Emory appeared at the door. Peter already knew what he was going to say. He could tell by the look on his face.
"Your mother's having a bad day."
Peter nodded. "I noticed."
"I can't leave her."
"But, Dad, I have to go to Hogwarts!"
Emory's face was apologetic. "We'll call the Knight Bus. They'll take you to London. You won't miss the train."
"No, Dad," Peter said angrily. "All the other kids' parents will be there. You have to take me."
"Peter, your mother--"
"I don't care!" Peter shouted. "It isn't my fault she's like that. She ruins everything!"
Emory rushed into the room and closed the door. "Keep your voice down," he hissed. "You know better than to shout. You'll upset her."
Peter crossed his arms over his chest and looked away, trying to hide the pain he felt. Just once, he'd like his father to take care of him the way he took care of Delilah. Peter bit back several possible retorts before forcing out, "Please, Dad. Please come with me to London." He looked into his father's face, and their blue eyes met.
"How about if I ask Miriam to take you?" Miriam was Emory's sister. She was the one who was paying for Peter to go to Hogwarts in the first place. Emory had squandered all the family's gold on the pipe dream of someday curing Delilah.
"I don't want her to take me," Peter said harshly. "I want you to. Why can't you ever just..." Peter let the question hang between them. He wasn't sure how he was planning to finish that sentence anyway.
"Fine. I'll take you," Emory relented. "But I won't be able to stay with you. I can't leave her alone for very long when she's like this. I'll see if Miriam can sit with her."
He turned and left, probably to go to the floo and contact his sister. Peter rose and went to his mother's room. She was sleeping. Emory had given her a sleeping potion, no doubt. Peter touched her cheek. He could almost remember her being different once. He could remember a time when he sat in her lap and she smiled at him and kissed him and read him stories. He could remember sitting with her while she gardened and watching her cook. He remembered standing on her feet while she danced and feeling like he was the luckiest boy in the world because he had the nicest, most beautiful mother. But that was before she lost the baby and went mad. Now, all she seemed to do was scream or sleep or stare.
"I hate you," Peter whispered into her ear. "I wish you were dead." He wasn't sure if he meant it or not.
"Peter, what are you doing in here?" Emory whispered behind him. "Don't wake her up."
"I was just checking on her," Peter explained in his normal voice, turning to face his father. "I wanted to be sure she was all right."
"Shh," Emory warned, putting a finger to his lips, but he was smiling warmly at Peter. "She's fine, Son. She just needs a little sleep. Come on, let's get out of here and leave her to her rest."
Peter obeyed, giving his sleeping mother one last glance. She looked so peaceful like that. Emory held a hand out to him and put it on his shoulder as he walked by. "She'll miss you," Emory whispered as he shut the door. "So will I," he added, almost as an afterthought.
"I'll miss you, too," Peter said, although he wasn't entirely sure he would. He knew he wouldn't miss his mother. There wasn't enough left of her to miss.
When it came time to go, Miriam appeared, looking unhappy to be there. She and Emory stepped into the next room to talk. They both kept their voices low, but Peter could still hear every word.
"I won't be long," Emory said. "I'm just going to drop him off and come right back."
"You shouldn't have to do that. You can stay with him. He needs you. We'll be fine here," Miriam replied.
"She'll be upset if she wakes up and I'm not here," Emory explained.
"I will never understand why you don't just put her in St. Mungo's," Miriam said coldly. Peter himself had wondered the same thing, but he resented Miriam saying it. He had always liked his aunt. She was one of very few people who treated him like he mattered. His parents always carried on as though he were invisible. Yet, he felt a surge of anger toward her in moments like this. She never hid her disdain for Delilah's frailty, and Peter always felt she overstepped her bounds in saying so.
"She's my wife," Emory snapped defensively. "You don't put your wife in St. Mungo's just because she's a little blue."
"A little blue?" Miriam repeated. "Emory, she's a basket case, and she's never going to get better. Everyone can see it but you. You've put your life on hold for her long enough. You need a wife, and Peter needs a mother. A father, too, for that matter. You are neglecting your son. You're going to wake up one of these days and realize that he's all grown up and you don't even know him."
"My son is not your concern."
"My nephew is very much my concern, Emory. He deserves better than this."
"No one asked you your opinion," Emory spat, then he returned to the room where Peter stood eavesdropping and spoke curtly. "Come on, Peter, let's get you to London."
He strode toward the floo, leaving Peter to struggle with the trunk. He felt the weight lift and turned to see Miriam lifting it, a sad smile on her face. "Write to me if you need anything, Poppet," she told him.
"I will," Peter promised before following his father through the floo.
When they arrived at King's Cross, Peter's father walked just inside the door with him and said his goodbyes.
"But I don't know where the platform is," Peter said, hoping he could persuade his father to join him on the platform.
"It's between platforms nine and ten. You just walk toward the barrier, and it'll disappear. It isn't difficult. I promise. I really have to get back."
"But I don't know where platforms nine and ten are," Peter said.
"Oh for goodness sake," Emory said, sounding annoyed. "Fine, I'll go with you to the barrier." He strode forward with Peter on his heels. He stopped short next to two black-haired boys and a very sour-looking woman.
"Here we are," Emory announced. "See you at Christmas. Things will be better then. I promise."
Peter didn't believe him. He wasn't sure if Emory was lying or if he was just so stupid that he sincerely didn't realize that Delilah was never going to get better. Either way, the result was the same, and Peter had long since grown weary of broken promises.
"But Dad, why can't you just come with me onto the platform?" Peter whinged.
"Peter, we've been over this," Emory said sternly. "I have to get back home to your mother. You know she's having a bad day. You'll be fine. Just go through the barrier and get on the train. That's all there is to it. Send me an owl tonight and let me know what house you're in. I bet you're a Hufflepuff, like me."
"But Dad," Peter said again.
"No, Peter. No more of this. It's time for you to grow up."
Peter flinched at those words, and Emory immediately softened.
"I'm sorry, Pete."
Peter grimaced. He hated to be called "Pete", and he had told his father that more times than he could count.
His father continued, oblivious to Peter's annoyance. "I didn't mean that. I'm just worried about your mother, that's all. I wish I could come with you. I really do."
"Why can't you? It's only a few minutes."
"It would only take a few seconds for her to wake up and have another episode. I'm sorry, Son. I have to go. I love you, and I'll see you at Christmas." Emory pulled Peter into a brief embrace that Peter only half-heartedly returned. Then he turned and practically ran toward the door. Peter watched him go, but Emory never looked back.
Peter sighed and dragged his trunk toward the barrier. As promised, it gave way and dumped him onto Platform 9 ¾. Peter glanced up and down the platform and tried not to notice that he seemed to be the only person there without parents. Peter sighed and walked resolutely toward the train, wondering what his dad would do if he never sent a single owl. Maybe that would teach him. Peter perked up a little at the thought and then wilted once more. "He probably wouldn't even notice," Peter thought bitterly to himself. After all, he'd never noticed Peter before; why should he start now?
Peter consoled himself with the thought that things would be different now that he was finally going to Hogwarts. He knew in his heart of hearts that things would be different there. No one would know about his parents there, and people would like him, and he would be popular and funny and finally have friends. That thought buoyed him as he climbed onto the train.
Peter found an empty compartment and dragged his trunk inside. He was just getting settled when some bigger boys came in. "What are you doing in here?" One of them asked.
"Yeah, this is our compartment, and we don't want little rats in it," another boy added.
"I was here first," Peter told them.
"Did you hear that, Lucius? He was here first," the first boy said.
"Funny, I don't remember seeing him in here," the one called Lucius said, "and I'm a prefect, so I reckon I know what I saw and what I didn't see. Wouldn't you agree, Walden?"
The boy called Walden took Peter's trunk and tossed it out into the aisle. "Looks to me like your trunk's out there," he said, sneering at Peter. Then he grabbed Peter by the front of his robes and tossed him out as well. "Looks to me like you're out there now, too."
Lucius and Walden laughed as they shut the compartment.
"Are you all right?" A girl asked, looking at him from the compartment across the aisle.
Peter nodded, straightening his robes and looking to see who had spoken to him; it was a pretty girl with brown hair. She looked to be sixteen or seventeen. A boy who looked to be the same age was standing with her.
"Those boys are worthless," she said. "I will never understand how Lucius Malfoy got to be a prefect."
"His father probably paid the right people," the boy said.
"You know Dumbledore doesn't accept bribes," the girl retorted before turning back to Peter. "You can come to our compartment if you like."
Peter held his head up proudly and told her thank you, but no. The girl shrugged. "Suit yourself," she said, "but you can join us if you change your mind. I'm Andromeda Black. This is Ted Tonks. We're seventh years."
Peter thought quickly.
"Are you a first year?" Andromeda asked. Peter nodded.
"My cousin's a first year this year. Sirius Black. He's here somewhere, but I haven't seen him yet. I probably won't until the feast. The Hogwarts Express is always a madhouse."
"Well, thanks," Peter said uncertainly. "See you."
"See you," Ted said, smiling at Peter. Peter almost changed his mind then. Maybe sitting with seventh years wouldn't be so bad. Maybe they could introduce him around school and he could be popular. He turned back to take them up on their offer, but they were snogging. Peter certainly didn't want to spend the entire train ride watching that. So he dragged his trunk through the train, looking for an empty compartment. In the last car, he nearly ran headlong into a boy who was likewise dragging his trunk.
"Sorry," Peter mumbled, feeling very lost. It seemed there wasn't an empty compartment anywhere, and he didn't want to ask someone he didn't know for help.
"It's all right," the boy replied. "Are you looking for a compartment?"
Peter nodded. "Everywhere down there is full." He pointed behind him.
"Everywhere that way, too," the boy said, pointing in the opposite direction.
"I suppose we could sit in by the door," Peter suggested.
The boy shrugged. "Okay," he said. "My name's Remus, by the way."
"Oh, hello. I'm Peter. Peter Pettigrew."
Peter and Remus sat on their trunks by the door, not speaking. Peter wished Remus would say something, or that he could think of something to say himself, but his shyness prevented him from doing anything besides asking the occasional question.
"What house do you want to be in?"
Remus shrugged. "I don't know. You?"
"I don't know. My dad was in Hufflepuff and my mother was in Slytherin, but I don't think I'd like to be in either of those houses."
"My dad was a Gryffindor," Remus said.
"What about your mum?"
"She went to Beauxbatons."
"Oh, is she French?"
Remus nodded. "She's from Normandy."
"That must be interesting, having a French mother. Does she make you croissants?"
"Sometimes."
A stretch of silence.
"What subjects do you like best?" Peter asked.
"Maths."
"I meant magical subjects."
"Oh, I don't know. I suppose I'll have to wait and see. What about you?"
"I guess I don't really know, either."
Another long silence.
"Do you like quidditch?" Peter asked.
"I like to watch it, but I don't like to play. I hate flying."
"I like to watch it and play it. I think I'm going to try out for the team." Peter glanced at Remus to see if he had bought the lie. The truth was that Peter had never been on a broomstick in his life.
"Good luck. I hope you make it."
More silence.
Peter was just beginning to think that this would be a very long trip when a prefect came up and told them they couldn't stay by they door; they had to go into a compartment.
"But there aren't any empty compartments," Peter protested.
"Then find one that isn't empty," the prefect suggested.
"But we don't know anyone," Peter argued.
The prefect shrugged. "I can't help you with that. I just know you can't stay out here." Then she whipped her hair around and marched away.
"What do we do now?" Remus asked.
"I guess we find someone who'll let us in." He picked up his trunk and began to walk the aisle. Remus followed him. Remus intended to go back and join Andromeda and Ted, but two cars down, he found a compartment that was nearly empty. Only two people were in it: a red-haired girl and a black-haired boy. Both of them appeared to be about Peter's own age. Peter took a deep breath and opened the compartment. "Do you mind if we join you?" He asked.
"Be my guest," the girl said. "I'm Lily Evans."
"Peter Pettigrew," Peter said, coming into the compartment.
"Severus Snape," the black-haired boy said.
"Remus Lupin," Remus said.
Peter settled his trunk and sat, only to find that small talk with Lily and Severus was every bit as awkward as it had been with Remus. Eventually, he settled into looking out the window and watching the countryside go by while Severus and Lily, who had clearly known one another for some time, chatted easily. Before long, Remus joined in, and the two treated him kindly, but when Peter attempted to insert himself into the conversation with a joke about gingers, it backfired and Lily got offended. The rest of the trip was a very icy affair. When they arrived at their destination, Lily and Severus said goodbye curtly and rushed away, leaving Remus and Peter alone.
"I didn't mean to hurt her feelings," Peter explained. "It was only a joke."
Remus shrugged and made his way toward the door. Peter followed on his heels, trying to explain himself, but only succeeding in making himself sound worse and worse. He was so frustrated he could barely think straight. He never imagined that he would make such a mess of things before he ever even got off the train.
Remus and Peter climbed into a boat together to cross the lake. Two boys clambered in behind them and introduced themselves as James Potter and Sirius Black. Peter took an immediate liking to them both, but neither seemed particularly interested in him. James gushed about how excited he was to be at Hogwarts, and Sirius only stared off into the distance. Peter wanted to tell Sirius that he had met his cousin, but he couldn't find a way to work it into the conversation, so he instead ran his fingers through the water and watched as his new school grew closer and closer. The feeling of hope in his chest seemed to grow larger as the castle loomed.
At the sorting, Peter begged the hat not to put him in Slytherin or Hufflepuff. He didn't want to be like either of his parents. It tried to convince him that Slytherin was the place for him, but he was adamant, so it put him in Gryffindor instead. Remus was a Gryffindor as well but, more importantly, so were Sirius and James. Peter wasn't sure what it was, but he wanted more than anything to be friends with them. That evening, after the new Gryffindors had settled into their dormitory, Peter approached them as they sat playing Wizard's Chess in the Gryffindor common room, sharing a tin of chocolate biscuits.
"Hello," Peter said. "Do you remember me? From the boat? I'm Peter. Peter Pettigrew."
Sirius looked him up and down. "We remember you," he said simply, though not unkindly. Peter stood there, waiting for one of them to say something. They both stared at him.
"I met your cousin... on the train," Peter said quickly, hoping it would be a conversation starter.
"Which one?" Sirius asked skeptically.
"Andromeda, and her boyfriend as well. Ted. They're very nice."
"Andromeda doesn't have a boyfriend," Sirius said with a dangerous edge in his tone that Peter would have recognized were he a little more socially aware.
"Yes, she does," Peter corrected him. "They were snogging."
"You must be mistaken. If my cousin had a boyfriend, she would tell me," Sirius said coldly, turning back to the game.
Peter wasn't sure what to say to that. He knew quite well what he had seen, but there was such finality in Sirius's tone that Peter was afraid to argue with him. Instead, he stood there awkwardly, hoping one of them would say something else, or possibly even invite him to play.
"Did you want something?" Sirius finally asked.
"I... erm... well... I just... erm... well... I wanted to know if I could join you."
"It's sort of a two player game," James said gently. "But you can watch if you like."
"Can I play the winner?" Peter asked.
"Are you any good?" Sirius asked.
Peter had never played wizard's chess, but he wanted very much for these boys to think well of him. He took a deep breath before stuttering, "Erm... well... I...".
"It's not a hard question," Sirius snapped. "Either you're good or you're not. Which is it?"
"Sirius," James said, looking surprised. "You don't have to be so rude."
"I'm not being rude," Sirius replied. "Only I can see this going on for awhile, and I'm tired of being stuttered at."
A few people listening snickered.
Stung, Peter turned away from the boys and nearly plowed over Remus Lupin for the second time that day.
Remus was looking at him sympathetically. "Not very friendly, are they?" Remus asked softly.
"I only wanted to be their friend," Peter whispered. His face was burning with humiliation, and he could feel tears welling in his eyes. He had had such high hopes for Hogwarts; he had honestly believed in his heart that things would be different here, would be better here. Now he saw that things would be exactly the same, because no matter where he went, he was still only Peter, shy and invisible.
"I'll be your friend," Remus said softly.
It took a moment for Peter to register what Remus had said. He was so shocked he couldn't speak for a full minute. "Really?" He finally asked.
"Sure," Remus offered. "And I've got a Wizard's Chess set. We can go play right now if you like."
"Oh, well, I don't really know how," Peter admitted.
"Oh," Remus said. "Well, then, I'll teach you. Come on."
Remus and Peter bounded up the stairs to their dormitory and set the chessboard up on Peter's bed. They played until he was so tired he fell asleep waiting for Remus to make a move. Then they set the board on the windowsill and went to sleep. Peter was happier than he ever remembered being. For the first time in his life, he had a real friend. "I knew things would be better here," was Peter's last conscious thought.