Chapter 4:

"I Wear Your Grandma's Clothes"

Christopher was weary to open the door. He nudged it open an inch with his foot, and tilted horizontally to peer inside. Well...there didn't appear to any dung bombs or anything awaiting him…

He stepped inside.

"Chris!" James jumped off the bed instantly.

FUCK! His heart skipped and he cursed the kid in his head. Did he have to be so sudden with everything! Christopher seriously debated stepping back, closing the door, and sleeping in the hallways. Nah. Dumbleduck would notice. The portraits were goddamned security cameras. They gossiped.

In the end, he just said, "...Yo."

"Yes!" James was literally hopping. "We're in the same dorm! Me, you, and Sirius! This is Siriusly gonna be amazing! Get it! Get it!"

Sirius snickered.

"That was dumb," Chris said bluntly. James froze mid-laugh and looked at him like a deer in headlights. How appropriate, considering he was a stag. Christopher sighed. "...Seriously."

James burst into laughter again.

Sirius looked away, crossing his arms.

Ah...Crisis averted, Christopher thought to himself. He didn't want to be James' friend, but he also didn't want the eleven-year old dork to look at him like he was an incoming car aiming to slime the James-stag across the street as roadkill. Not even I'm that cruel. Probably. What was with these kids and their killer pathetic eyes?

While James was rolling on the floor laughing, Christopher wandered over to the only empty bed. Unfortunately, the peace (if it could be called that) did not last long.

"So, Chris," James started, "is Chris a nickname for Peter, or is Peter a nickname for Chris, or is Peter not your name at all, or is it and you just don't like it," James rambled. "I mean, you don't have to tell me but we were just curious," James said referring to him and Sirius, "and it was really funny when the hat corrected itself by the way." Then, he added, "but I mean it was pretty wicked anyway."

Christopher wanted to bang his head into a wall. The kid talked so much and so fast. And for the (seventieth) life of him he couldn't figure out why the hell James Potter thought Christopher Pettigrew was so interesting, especially since it was clearly one-sided.

"What's your problem, Pettigrew," Sirius's cold tone interrupted. Sirius, unlike James, seemed less than enthused. "The least you could do is reply," Sirius sneered.

Christopher was annoyed. He had wanted to stay out of range of the Marauders but the Sorting Hat had evidently ruined his plans. And as Peter had been in their room, naturally so was Chris. Wonderful. Life wanted to keep him on JK Rowling's plot. No thank you.

Christopher however, did not favor spending his Hogwarts years giving everyone the cold shoulder. He preferred the cold eye, and the shoulder to the nose, and if needed, a kick to the balls.

"Cat got your tongue?" Sirius sneered, stepping up to Christopher.

James watched, interested.

Cat got my tongue? Christopher was tempted to make a joke about frenching McGonagall. Then a cat would have your tongue indeed. But of course they wouldn't understand that until the first day of class, when she from cat to woman. Haha, CatWoman. She was fit to join the Avengers.

Actually, they probably wouldn't understand that joke until third year. Because even if they knew McGoggs was a kitty cat cat, they probably wouldn't know what Frenching and what it had to do with tongues for a while, given their undoubtedly sheltered pureblood childhoods.

What a drag, Christopher thought. Eleven year old kids. Too fucking innocent.

"Well?" Sirius took another step forward, taunting him. He was getting very cocky, Christopher thought. "Look James, he can't even talk. Cat really does got your cowardly tongue, huh," he said, in some mockery of informal British, which sounded odd to Christopher, because obviously, Sirius was faking it to be "cool". Or "wicked" as the Brits probably said in this time period.

Well, Christopher considered, even if Sirius was eleven, Christopher could still have his fun. Christopher raised an eyebrow at him. Sirius was glaring. Christopher's lips twitched in a smirk. "I'm not sure," he said slowly, drawing it out. "Does the cat have my tongue?"

Haha, Christopher thought dryly to himself. McGonagall. McGonaKitty, Mc Order me a French, McFrench a Kitty.

"Hm. Let me think." Christopher leaned forward, making Sirius take a step back, and stuck out his tongue, slowly, tauntingly.

James who was watching eye's widened, fascinated at the somehow lewd, tempting action. Growing up in pureblood society, he had never witnessed such blatant crudity.

Yet this Chris mate made sticking out one's tongue look like a middle finger. The MIDDLE Finger. Chris was THAT BAD.

Wow. James had always admired pirates and bandits and everything bad bad bad (But exciting) and here was this Chris, that wore ripped clothes and looked cool, and stuck his tongue out, and ignored people and sauntered like a master.

"Would you like to check?" Christopher taunted with a smirk, pointing to his tongue.

There was a silence.

"Wicked!" James squealed, banging his hand on the floor. "Chris, mate," James pointed his finger at Christopher, "that was deadly! Dead killer! I've decided that you may join my pirate crew," James said with a firm nod. "Yes. There is definitely a need for an outlaw like you!"

For once Christopher and Sirius looked at each other and felt the same baffled expression on their faces. "You're fucking weird," Christopher muttered, inching away. "Kids these days." he grumbled to himself.

"Wait-" James exclaimed. "You said a bad word!"

"Whatever, big deal, who cares," Sirius grumbled, clearly wanting James to stop talking to Christopher. "Come on, can't we unpack or something-"

James pushed up his glasses. He didn't like not knowing what words meant, especially bad ones. James was planning on being a pirate when he grew up; he had to know all kinds of bad words. "My newest recruit! You must tell me! What does fucking mean?"

Christopher choked on air. He couldn't help it. He whipped around to stare at James and he was pretty sure his face looked like he'd been sucker punched in the gut. "I am NOT giving you the birds and bees talk," Christopher said. Not to Harry Potter's eleven-year-old dad.

"Hell no," Christopher grumbled to himself, about to turn back around. "Look," he said warily. "If you don't know what it means, don't use it," Christopher said to James over his shoulder. He paused. "And don't tell your mum or you dad or anyone that it was me that taught you that word. I don't want to get skinned alive."

"Don't worry, mate," James smirked. He crossed his arms against his chest triumphantly. "A Potter never betrays his friends."

"We're not friends," Christopher grumbled.

"And especially not his crewmates," James said, smirking to himself proudly.

"And we're definitely not crewmates," Christopher said. But it seemed James ignored him. He was apparently too busy rolling around on the floor.

James rolled across the floor like a hotdog until he bumped against Christopher's feet. Christopher stood and stared down at him, irked.

"Hi." James grinned, hands on his stomach.

Forget Stag, Christopher thought as he removed his feet from under James and stepped over him. This one and the other are dogs. Both dogs.

Okay, well I already talked to him, Christopher thought to himself, so now he will leave me alone-

"I like your robes," James said to Christopher's back.

-or not. Christopher glanced at the boy, resigned to his fate. James was looking at him with big brown eyes. Fine...I'll bite. You hungry mongrel.

James was now propped up on his elbows, lying on his stomach on the floor. "They look cool," James said, staring at Christopher's robes.

"Cool," Christopher said, half-puzzled. Weird ass kid. " I bought them at a thrift shop."

"A what?"

"A thrift shop," Christopher repeated as he leaned against the wall, looking down at James. He almost smirked, but his lips twitched. "You know," he said at James' blank look. "A thrift shop. As in..." Stupid Macklemore. The goddamn song was now playing in his head. " I wear your Grandma's clothes," he said with a smirk. He couldn't help it. "I look incredible."

"No way!" James gasped. "You wear my grandma's clothes? Wow. Whoa. Whoaaaaaaaaaa."

What the fuck, Christopher thought to himself, stilling. The kid believed me?

Sirius smacked his own face. "He's obviously joking," Sirius said. "How could he wear your grandmother's clothes? He's a guy."

"Well," James said in deep thought. "My grandma did crossdress…"

"Or maybe I crossdress," Christopher said, just because.

Silence.

"You wear my grandma's clothes to crossdress?" James said, looking somehow hopelessly confused.

"Well, I don't fucking know," Christopher said. "I suppose you've never been to a thrift shop, kid, but you don't exactly know where all your shit comes from. This could be your grandpa's robes," Christopher said. "Or your cross-dressing grandma's," he said. He shrugged. "Doesn't matter. "He smirked, and held up an arm. "I always wear them better."

Then Christopher turned away, assuming the talk was over.

"Wait-wait-" James grabbed his leg.

Christopher suppressed a groan. "What."

"You said-A thrift shop? A thrift shop?!" James gaped.

"No, really," christopher said dryly.

"Well you were talking about my granny," James pouted. "I got distracted. Oh yeah! And cross dressing. That's wicked. So Wicked. I've never met a crossdresser before. Except my granny. But she's dead." He looked sad for a second. "You would've liked her," he said, very decidedly. "Oh. Wait. Have you worn a dress? My granny's dress? Oh wait, you don't know if you have. Does that mean maybe you've worn my granny's clothes before we even met? It's destiny!" James yelled. "Wait." he paused, staring at the wall. "Does that mean I can see you in a dress?" His eyes were sparkling as he stared at Christopher.

Sirius choked.

"What," Christopher deadpanned.

Then James blinked. "WAIT! You tricked me again! I was talking about thrift shops! Yeah! Thrift Shops! You really went to a thrift shop? WAIT!" Then he narrowed his eyes. "You're not pulling the mickey right…"

"No," Christopher snorted. "Why."

"That's wicked! How was it?" James groaned, hands going to mess in his messy hair. "I keep nagging my mum to go, but she won't let me. It's the worst," he complained. "She won't even let me in a store with...what are they called. Uh, Miscounts?"

"Discounts," Christopher said automatically.

"Yeah those," James said airily. "The commoner stores," he said. "I've never been before!"

Christopher couldn't refrain from snorting. What school was this again? Hogwarts? "Feels like fucking Ouran." Ouran High School was from an anime and it was school for the richest of the rich rich rich who had never been to a supermarket before. James was like Tamaki, or something. Then again, he should have expected it, given the traditional, stuck-up culture of the purebloods. And that both James and Sirius were first-in-line heirs to ancient, richass bloodlines.

Feeling reconciliatory, he muttered, "Maybe I'll take you sometime," as he evaluated his bed. He probably wouldn't actually, but the thought was amusing, taking the Potter heir and probably the Black heir too (attached at the hip as they were) to a thrift store…

The bed curtains were nice. He would have to spell them to only open on his command, or something. Protection spells would be nice.

"YES!" James exclaimed with a fist pump in the air.

"Why would you want to go to a thrift shop?" Sirius complained. He looked like a dog dumped in water. Not happy.

"You haven't heard?" James made a face at Sirius. "Siri-poo," he grabbed the boy's leg. "All the wizards worth anything shop at thrift stores. They're like...treasure places!" James sighed dreamily. "It's like being a pirate...and searching through a pile of trash searching for treasure!" Sirius tried to kick him off, but James was hugging him so tightly Sirius just ended up dragging him around the floor. "This is fun," James said offhandedly. "Is this what being a foot feels like? Getting dragged around everywhere on the floor…"

"You're so heavy!" Sirius growled, pushing James' head. "Get off! Merlin, you're so fat!"

"Fat?!" James shrieked, fake-crying. But he did let go. In order to slap his hands on his cheeks like he'd been horribly shocked. "Honey, how could you say such a thing?!"

"I'm going to kick you," Sirius grumbled.

"Ah!" James flopped on the floor, clutching his heart. "My heart! It's broken!"

Sirius grinned all of a sudden. "Aw, poor Jamsey," he taunted, a spark coming into his eye. He sat on top of James. "Want me to kwiss is all bwetter?" He made a kissey face.

"Why the hell do you have so much energy," Christopher grumbled, not expecting anyone to reply.

James pushed Sirius off him and sat up cross-legged. "Because!" He grinned. "The jailers aren't here!" he practically yelled.

"The parents," Sirius clarified, eyeing Christopher warily but with interest.

"He understand me!" James yelled and hugged Sirius tightly. He grinned, squeezing the choking boy as he talked. "Mum's a Healer so she's always nagging me about healthy this, healthy that." He made a face. "And Dad's an Auror so we have all these security check things around the house. I have to go to boring lessons with boring tutors and they make me brush my hair all the time and change my underwear every day and night, and make my robes straight."

"You better keep changing your underwear," Sirius grumbled.

James continued, "And I'm not allowed to leave bed at night or go outside or whatever or go around alone and I'm not allowed to go to muggle-y places or talk to the neighbour's, and I'm not allowed to swear." Here he looked at Christopher. "Or go to thrift shops," he pouted, burying his face in Sirius' hair. "Even Dumbledore shops at thrift shops."

Christopher twitched. What? Ew. He didn't want to be compared to that guy with the horrendous fashion. Well...Dumbledore did seem like a thrift store kind of guy. Where else did he get his socks? And magical thrift stores were pretty cool. Borgin and Burkes, mentioned in the Harry Potter novels, was also a thrift shop, sort of.

James had a point, Christopher thought amusedly. Dumbledore probably shopped at thrift shops, the Malfoys shopped at thrift shops, Harry Potter the Boy who Lived had stalked Draco into one, and hell...Hell even the Dark Lord shopped at thrift shops. Tom Riddle freaking worked at one. Great wizards did indeed tend to frequent thrift shops.

Ah, Christopher thought, and the Room of Requirement was like a thrift shop...with no prices. Ah. He would definitely have to pay that place a visit as well.

Seeing that James was now being distracted by Sirius, Christopher turned and found his suitcase already set down by a bed. He felt an itch to open it and check that everything was there and no one had taken anything, but he was wary of the other boys' eyes on him.

He was pissed enough upon realizing he was stuck with a bed between James and Sirius. No doubt with how buddy-buddy they already were, the two troublemakers would be gossiping and sniggling (snicker giggling, a.k.a boy giggling) all night.

Did Peter also get stuck with this bed? How the fuck did Peter survive this? Christopher's eyebrow twitched. If it weren't for the magical seals he could feel placed on the beds he would have stole the last bed by the corner, which, speaking of which, was still empty.

"Where's the other kid," Christopher said, looking at the last empty bed.

Just then the door opened, and a pale, skinny kid with brown hair looking unhealthy and miserable skittered inside. "I-I'm Remus L-lupin," the kid stuttered. Without turning his back to them, the kid edged against the wall and then almost dived towards his bed.

To Christopher's surprise, James looked thoroughly disappointed. Sirius looked bored.

"What," Christopher couldn't hold back his curiosity.

James looked at him questioningly. "What what?"

Christopher gestured to his face. "This."

"Oh," James said, pouting. He really was pouting. "I was hoping it would just be us."

Remus flinched.

Christopher raised an eyebrow. That was...cruel.

While James turned to Sirius and they started talking about some dumb card game, Christopher observed the two carefully.

It seemed Sirius Black was wary of most others and rather possessive of James. That, Christopher had predicted. However, James..well, James Potter was not at all what Christopher had expected.

Based on how the novels had portrayed James in the few flashbacks JK Rowling had presented, Christopher would have thought James, being an arrogant bullying "toerag", would have immediately picked Christopher as a target, like he had Severus.

After all, Christopher was poor. He might be wearing his Hogwarts uniform, but the stolen money he'd used hadn't bought him Malfoy quality robes. His hair was sort of messy and he was skinny as he had been in all his lives. Peter, Christopher was sure, had fought hard to grovel at Potter's feet so that Potter would take him in and not bully him. Smart move.

Christopher had purposely ignored James, assuming James would rebuff him and leave him alone, and Sirius would follow accordingly. Black had done the expected, disliked him. Potter on the other hand…

"What," Christopher's eyebrow twitched. James was staring at him. Sirius looked peeved again. "Nothing," James said after a second. "Oh," James blinked. Christopher thought that James had way too much energy. Well, he was eleven. But even Sirius wasn't that hyper. "Play Exploding snap with us, Chris," James demanded. It was a very bossy tone-the kid was probably used to getting what he wanted- but Christopher shrugged it off.

"Nah," Christopher said. "It's dark. I'm out. Don't bother me."

"Okay," James said, surprisingly easily.

He closed the curtains and without changing his clothes, Christopher laid back on his bed, arms crossed behind his head. James had taken an instant...liking to Christopher, but an instant dislike to Lupin. Had James and Sirius disliked Lupin in the original series? Perhaps they had, Christopher thought, given that Lupin was obviously a nervous first year that looked ready to piss himself. James had taken one look at him and the look on James' face screamed that he thought Lupin was a loser.

Poor kid, he thought distantly. They'll sort it out themselves, he figured. Whatever.

He wondered how the group of four had gotten together. It appeared that in the beginning, they weren't as unified as they presented themselves as...and he supposed in the end they weren't either.

Despite their 7 years at Hogwarts, living together as roommates, sharing secrets, making vows and such and such, at the end the friends had turned on each other. James and Sirius suspected Remus of being a traitor, a werewolf working for Voldemort. Once James was dead, Remus thought Sirius a traitor and left him in Azkaban for twelve years.

Funnily enough, Peter (who Christopher was gradually growing more and more to darkly admire) ,the actual traitor, was the one able to avoid suspicion.

Sirius suspected Remus. James believed him. James died. Remus blamed Sirius. And everyone trusted Peter.

Poor Poor Peter, they said. Loyal to the end, killed by Sirius Black his childhood friend, trying to defend a street of muggles. Nothing but a finger left of him in this world. Boo hoo hoo. Cry.

Haha.

Truly an excellent rat.

But, Christopher wondered, how had it all started? Everyone knew how it ended, but what of how it began? Was it Peter who had befriended Lupin? Or had Lupin befriended Peter? His brow furrowed. He couldn't imagine James reacting the same way to the original Peter as he had to Christopher.

He supposed it didn't matter.

As usual, Christopher couldn't sleep, and spent the night staring at the cover of the top of his bed, breathing in the magic of the air, feeling out the foreign magic signatures in the room, lying still and urging his twitching, tense body to relax, not fight as he let their magic wash over him in waves. The lights were out and it was dark in the dorm, but he felt like he was in a goddamned disco party, with a ball of neon lights flashing polkadots all over his vision. All the magical presences, all different, some fuzzy and soft to the touch, others scratchy, some smooth as honey, others springy like rubber, they crowded his head and he felt them pressing in on him, pushing, squeezing, rubbing. He turned on his stomach and his ribs pressed into the bed, lungs expanding with heavy breaths. He buried his head and his foot twitched, jerking spasmodically with the panic fizzling through his tense body.

Shut up and go to sleep, he told both himself, and the magic.

The only thing that calmed him was the steady, strong heart beat of the pulsing magic of the sentient castle. It was grounded and deep like a bass, and the vibrations massaged his chest and evened his shallow breaths.

Shut up and go to sleep.

He didn't sleep at all.

. . .

A/N: Okay, this was supposed to be totally different, like Chris would just walk in and ignore them, but then I was writing it and James started talking and I swear I couldn't stop him.

Tell me what you think of Chris and the others! Also, tell me if you have any particular Hogwarts scenes you want to see. :)

Thanks for reading and all the support so far! I hope you enjoyed it. Review please XD