OPTIVUS by P.P.V.V.

Disclaimer: The Standard Disclaim Applies.


AN: Dear goodness, I'm so sorry that it's taken me this long to update. My most sincere apologies! The month of August was a nightmare of events one after another, not to mention a time wherein my imagination cramped in on itself.

After the third attempt at this chapter (and finally, no more scrapping of material) I finally have something I hope is worthwhile for you to read.

That said, onward to Peter's past.


CHAPTER 8

- Titles -

Not for the first time that day, he found his head pushed between his knees as he tried to calm the spinning room. His stomach was lurching in every direction and he desperately tried to control it by clearing his mind.

He should have been used to it by now.

When the queasiness subsided a little, he slowly lifted his head and took deep breaths, going through the normal procedure.

Beside him, Dr. Fiorelli smiled encouragingly. "Would you like some water, Your Highness?"

"Do I look that bad?" Peter asked, finding the strength to smile weakly. His arm hurt where the skin had been pinched when receiving his medication.

The doctor simply flashed him a grin in response, handing him a glass and advising him to drink it slowly.

The water was cool and refreshing, making the room finally right itself and he was able to breathe easier. The dizzy spell, always brought about by the sight of syringes and blood, was beginning to fade completely.

With a sigh, Peter handed the glass back. "I don't suppose I will be allowed outside today, again, will I?"

At that, Dr. Fiorelli frowned and shook his head. "I'm afraid I must ask you to refrain from doing so. We must have you up on your feet during your celebration."

Well, it hadn't hurt to ask.

Still, the sunlight pouring in from the four huge ceiling-to-floor windows made him all the more wistful. He wanted to be outdoors, perhaps doing some horseback riding, or exploring. He loved exploring. His father didn't approve of him tangling himself in the gardens and getting dirty, though, so he didn't have a chance to do that very often.

As to the celebration that was mentioned, his father had decided to throw him a party because he was turning five and two years at last. The event was only a few days away and preparations were already in the process when flu-like symptoms decided to pay a visit on the young prince.

Seeing Peter's crestfallen expression, the doctor patted his shoulder. "A bit of sun, perhaps," he allowed, and at that, Peter perked up eagerly. "However," the doctor added, "you must be under supervision."

Huh. When wasn't that ever a condition?

His father would have a fit if he wandered anywhere alone, so he agreed to the terms quickly.

It ended up that 'a bit of sunlight' meant merely staying on the balcony that connected to his rooms. Peter guessed he shouldn't complain since the heat on his skin was a heavenly feeling.

Like always, his recovery time was slow and grueling, so he took every second he could to relish in the freedom outside. Behind him, his nurse, Madam Kali, stood, patiently watching and waiting, and behind her stood the ever present guards that were posted everywhere within the Palace.

Glancing down below at the gardens, Peter was sure there was not a more beautiful sight. In the sunlight each color looked brilliant and in the breeze, all the flowers and blossoms seemed to be waving at him genially from their places in the ground.

His father loved beauty, and so, the Palace was always being decorated with new articles: statues, paintings, carvings…they were everywhere and each piece was tasteful in its own unique way. Over the course of his life, Peter had come to appreciate the beauty of each (but it must be confessed that his own ability to create a work of art was next to nothing). The outside gardens were just the same, and he never tired of looking at them as he did now.

When it was time to go back inside, Peter masked his disappointment and followed Madam Kali obediently.

Back inside his chambers there was nothing else to do but read; his tutors had been instructed to let him rest so that without lessons, the day went by excruciatingly slow. Unfortunately for him, Peter had already read every book within his immediate chambers – the majority of them twice over – so he found himself quite restless.

It was a relief for him when Madam Kali came in with a new one under her arm. She must have guessed at his boredom.

"My lord, are you looking forward to your celebration?" she asked, by way of light conversation.

Peter didn't answer right away, taking the book from under the crook of his nurse's arm. It was just how he liked it: big, heavy and filled with many pages. He didn't just read books – no, he ate them from cover to cover. His rooms alone consisted of three libraries, which he frequented quite often.

Lineage, the title of the leather bound book read.

Fingers trailing the binding, Peter finally responded, "I suppose…"

"It's high time you spoke with children your age," the Madam said. "You spend too much time alone, if you ask me."

"I didn't ask you," Peter said, in a huff.

Madam Kali didn't seem the least put off by Peter's response. Instead, she smiled and said, "It's okay to be shy. I'm sure you'll find someone who will respect you not for what you are, but who you are."

Peter almost snorted, but he refrained from doing so because it was not a very gentlemanly thing to do. He had read enough to know that people were classed into two categories. The first were the type to take advantage of anyone in power, trying to build strong relationships for their own benefit in the future. The second were the type who feared the power and groveled before it in hopes that they would not be harmed.

It wasn't that he didn't want to make friends. It was that the other children didn't want to be friends with him. They seemed to be afraid of him when they learned of his position.

His title.

He guessed he didn't quite look the part of a Prince. After all, he had a round face and small eyes and a head full of light hair, his features somewhat homely. He looked underfed and pale, but that was not because he did not eat, but because he was always sick with one thing or another. Princes were supposed to look strong, tall, and healthy on their brave stallions.

As it was, he couldn't even remember the last time he had ridden his horse.

Realizing that his nurse was waiting for him to say something, Peter mumbled, "I hope so."

Seeming to sense his apprehension, Madam Kali excused herself and left the room so that he could read in peace.

She came back two hours later to find him slumped over his book, fast asleep, his hands splayed over the page that depicted the lines of the Royal House.

His name, of course, had not been written because his title had yet to be bestowed onto him.

King Peter the Fourth.

0-0-0-0-0

He had escaped to the privacy of the stone yard, just beyond the main gardens, where the other children played a game of hide-and-seek.

For some reason, Peter felt like he was too old to join in. From where he sat, on a low bench made of the same cold stone as the yard, he could hear the music and chatter coming from within the Palace as the adults enjoyed the celebration thrown on his behalf. He could also hear the children's laughter and pattering of feet float out to taunt him.

He didn't seem to fit either world, and he was tired of trying. He was certain that he could wait out the majority of the night just seated there without anyone noticing his disappearance. Parties weren't really his favorite past time because he was always being fussed over and bowed and scraped to, and all the while, he was forced to keep a pleasant smile on his face and answer accordingly.

Despite what Madam Kali had told him about making friends, he found he did not have the courage to speak with any of the children who were his age. It was just like his father to invite the whole of England.

He sighed.

And then it all happened so fast, that Peter didn't even see it coming. From out of nowhere, a ball hit him square in the forehead, nearly knocking him off his perch on the bench. His robes, elaborate and long, snagged onto the edge of the seat, helping to balance him as he let out a clipped cry of pain and surprise.

Head spinning, Peter blinked a few times before he was aware of someone speaking with him.

"Are you all right?"

A boy with wavy brown hair knelt next to him, the tucking the accursed ball under his arm by his side.

"My apologies! I didn't mean to hit you…" The boy was speaking, his voice a low thrum, as if in consideration to his still-spinning head.

Peter had half a mind to throw a tantrum, but he realized that he was too tired to put up any sort of unmannerly show. Instead, he reached a hand up to probe at the assaulted spot and was not surprised to feel that it was swelling.

Another voice suddenly joined the conversation; Peter hadn't even noticed there were two of them. "Perhaps I should go get some ice." This one had a head full of dark, unruly hair and a set of sophisticated-looking glasses. He didn't wait for a response and ran back to the Palace to do just as he had suggested.

"Would you like to go inside?" The first boy asked him, sounding genuinely concerned.

Finally managing to find his voice, Peter shook his head. "N-no…"

The boy frowned. "Are you sure?" He shifted in his position to peer at the spot on Peter's forehead. "It doesn't look too bad. It's a good thing I didn't kick it too hard."

"Yes, it's a good thing," Peter agreed. He didn't look forward to explaining to his father how he had gotten injured. Maybe the swelling would go down.

Seeming to read his mind, the boy gave him an apologetic look. "I really didn't mean to hit you, sir. I will take full responsibility for it."

"Very well, what is your name?" Peter demanded.

Taken aback by his sudden change in demeanor, the boy answered, "Sirius Black," almost amused.

"Son of Phineas Black?"

There was a short pause before Sirius answered, "…Yes…how do you know my father?"

"Your ancestry line is quite intricate," Peter told him. "Did you know you were named after the very first of your kin to be dubbed a nobleman?"

Sirius looked surprised. "Yes, I'm well aware of that. However, you didn't answer my first question. How do you know my father?"

"I know your entire household," was Peter's eager reply. "I have it memorized."

He proceeded to tap his temple.

Now Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Whatever for?"

Blushing, Peter looked down at his lap, choosing not to answer that question. Instead he said, "It doesn't hurt as much." Referring to the bump, of course. "Don't worry, I shan't sell you out."

The taller boy hummed in response, clearly baffled by the way Peter kept changing his subjects.

Well, two could play that game.

"It's disrespectful to give one's own name and not get one in return," Sirius told him, deciding to drop the last topic and start a new one. "If I may ask, sir, for an acquaintance at the least?"

At that, Peter bit his lip. Would it be prudent to tell him? So far, Sirius had not cast him any judgmental glances. The pretense would be futile in the end, he knew, but he wanted very badly for his identity to remain a secret so long as he could keep the conversation flowing. "You may call me Peter," he said, at last, hoping the boy would not press for any more information.

"That is a rather cropped name, don't you think, sir?" Sirius asked, lightly. At Peter's hollow stare, he smiled reassuringly. "Very well. By your leave, I shall call you only by the name you have given me."

"I appreciate it, thank you."

"May I ask you another question, then?"

Hesitating for a moment, Peter nodded again.

"Why are you out here all by yourself? Why aren't you with your friends?"

"I haven't got any friends, Sir Sirius."

Well, that was so straight forward that it caught the elder boy off guard. "Why don't you go and join the games, then?"

"I'm afraid I'm too shy," Peter answered, truthfully. "Besides, they would not want me to play with them."

"Why not?"

"Do you suppose all six hundred and ten of the noble houses are represented tonight?" Peter asked, changing the subject abruptly again, not liking where the conversation had started to turn.

He expected Sirius to make a face at the way he decided to switch the subject once more, and was surprised when the elder boy merely let out a chuckle. "I would wager – it's the Prince's birthday after all. We've a duty to pay homage to even His Highness."

Peter felt his lips twitch in a smile. "What do you know of the Prince, Sir Sirius?"

Sirius scrutinized him for a moment, trying to think of the response Peter was looking for. And then, he did what Peter least expected him to do: he reached over and ruffled his hair between his fingers. He didn't know whether to be upset or to be stunned. No one – not even his nurse – dared to do something like that. He found himself staring aghast as the elder boy laughed heartily.

"Well, I don't know much about His Highness," said Sirius, brightly. "But I do know that he's not the selfish, spoiled brat that people might think him to be. He tends to switch topics too quickly and speaks in a way that leaves his age undefined." He paused for a minute, tilting his head to the side. "Does that accurately define you, my lord?"

It was as though Peter had received a punch in the stomach, and he turned his wide eyes in wonder at Sirius, feeling, for the first time, completely dumbfounded. How on earth…? The only thing he could think of to say was, "How...how long have you known…?"

Sirius furrowed his eyebrows apologetically. "I didn't – James did. The moment we saw you he grew upset that we had injured one of the Royal House."

Peter waved that away and asked, "James? Your friend?"

"James Potter, son of Sir Alan Potter," Sirius confirmed. "He recognized you at once. I must admit that I had my doubts. Please, forgive my earlier impertinence."

The Prince waited for the bowing and scraping to come but was relieved when it didn't. "It was an accident. I don't hold it against you, sir."

"You have my thanks, then, my lord," Sirius said, gratefully. "All the same, I want to let you know that your injury was not the present the Black Household intended to give you."

The sentence got the desired effect as the Prince broke into a giggle. "I'm sorry I deceived you," Peter told him. "You must understand that I am not able to make acquaintances very easily."

Sirius settled himself down on the bench next to him, another thing that pleased Peter because no normal person would have done so.

"I have a question for you, Sir Sirius."

"Yes, Your Highness?"

"Do you feel awkward at all talking to me like this?" Sirius could hear the sad note in Peter's tone.

"Awkward?" Sirius repeated. "No, I don't suppose I do." He winked and nudged Peter playfully. "Unless, you would rather I didn't?"

At that, Peter vigorously shook his head.

That was when James returned with, it must be confessed, more than enough ice than was necessary for Peter's small, diminishing bump.

His unruly black hair was windswept with his running. "I apologize for my delay: I was forced into acquaintances with the House Falco. It seems their son Aesalon shares the same birth date as our beloved Prince." He proceeded to hand the package of ice over to Peter.

"Your Highness, Sirius' aim is very accurate," James said, confirming Sirius' earlier statements that James had indeed figured out Peter's true identity, "it's just that I am a hard target to strike. If I had known you were behind me, I would not have dodged at all."

"James, old chap, I let you get away," Sirius said, feigning disdain at the thought of missing anything. "It was just my excuse to meet a member of the Royal House."

"Yes, by hitting him," said James, dryly, and that caused everyone to laugh.

Peter expected them to leave after that, but it surprised him when the two did not move from their spots and continued to talk with him, perfectly at ease as though they had known him for years.

Even more surprisingly, Peter felt completely comfortable, not at all shy the way he usually was with strangers.

They asked him questions about his favorite foods, his favorite sports, even his favorite flavor of parfait. When Peter had recovered from his initial shock, he also began to ask questions, his words tripping over themselves in his excitement that he had at last, found some decent people to talk to that night.

Neither James nor Sirius seemed to mind, though, or even recognize his strange enthusiasm as he jumped from subject to subject in an effort to find out all about them.

He learned that they were four years older than he was, and that they attended H.W. Academy – the most prestigious school for the Noblemen in England. He also learned that they loved to play jokes on people whenever they could, and they assured him that tonight's accident was not part of the list they had planned.

"And what about you?" James asked, crossing his legs under him. He had settled himself on the grass and was now absently ripping up handfuls of blades in his fists. "There are rumors that you don't like the outdoors and that you are so irritable they keep you locked away in your rooms."

Peter had a hard time keeping the scowl from coming onto his face. Rumors. How Noble-like. "You would be irritable too, if all you were expected to do was rest."

At their puzzled looks, Peter instantly wished he could take back his words.

James, whom Peter had learned to be very perceptive, asked bluntly, "Are you sick?"

Peter tried to smile, but he supposed it looked more like a grimace. "I've problems with my liver. Along with a few other health issues," he added on an after thought. He didn't bother to list the rest of the complications as he looked down at his fingers which had begun to twist the hem of his elaborate robes. The material was a rich red color, patterned with embroidered Phoenix feathers, the symbol for long life – a present from the House Malfoy.

When no one spoke for a long moment, Peter sighed, not wanting to look up because he was afraid to see what he always saw: eyes that looked at him as though he were an invalid, someone who should be pitied. But when he finally did raise his head, he was surprised to see both Sirius and James staring at him with rapt attention, curiosity plainly written across their faces.

"What say, gentlemen? Leaving me all alone in the courtyard!" A new voice called, before either could speak. It sounded playfully affronted.

Both boys jumped up, guilty looks falling over their faces. "Remus…" Sirius breathed, and James made a sound that indicated that he, too, had forgotten all about their other friend.

Remus came around the garden hedges then, and Peter saw that he was taller than the other two, his gold-brown hair tied back at the base of his neck, resting against the off-white color of his shirt. He carried himself in a different manner – more sure, his chin held high proudly, his back straighter. It was his eyes, however, that gave away his mischievous personality, and he trained his gaze on the three of them.

"We had a little accident," Sirius thought to explain.

"A new acquaintance of yours?" Remus asked, settling his eyes on Peter.

"Ah…" Sirius stepped sideways and held his hand out in a gesture of introduction. "This is…His Highness." He turned to see Remus sweep into a formal bow. "Remus Lupin, son of Cyath Lupin - just in case you wanted to know," Sirius told Peter.

"A pleasure," Remus said, a hint of reverence in his voice, but for some reason, it didn't bother Peter as much as it usually did. After all, he supposed, it wasn't every day one met a Prince.

Feeling shy for the first time that night in the company that surrounded him, Peter ducked his head, words failing him.

James laughed, seeing his reaction. "Don't worry about Remus," he said, lightly. "He doesn't bite."

"Not hard, anyway," Remus smoothly added. "I hope you haven't been talking about me without my knowledge."

"No, we were just having a chat with the Prince," Sirius told him, as though that were a normal activity on his part.

"Well, I'm sorry to interrupt, but it's time to leave…" Remus said. "The night is not so young any more."

The moment Peter had been dreading had come at last, and he gripped the edge of the stone bench he was sitting on tightly. "You're going?" He heard himself ask, in a small, disappointed voice.

"We must, your Highness," Remus told him, apologetically, "though I wish it weren't the case. I would have liked to share in your company as well."

Peter's fingers began to hurt with the way he was clutching the stone. "But I will see you all again, won't I?" The thought of loneliness threatened to crush him.

"You have but to command it," James reassured him.

Sirius knelt so that he was face to face with the younger boy. "Don't look so down, my lord. We will meet again soon, I promise you. That is, if your Lord Father will allow you an audience."

Peter nodded, slightly comforted by the thought. There would be no problem, he was sure of it.

The boys began to walk back toward the courtyard, but Sirius paused a few steps away, turning to face him. "Happy Birthday, Your Highness. I hope you like my gift."

It turned out that it was a telescope, three feet in length, made of pure gold. It stood on a magnificent stand and his name had been embossed onto the body of it. Peter was thrilled with the gift – he had always loved the stars.

But he had already received the greatest gift of all.

Friendship.

0-0-0-0-0

Peter turned when a servant entered and knelt before him. He was a Messenger, from the way a leather satchel that bore the crest of the Royal House was slung from his left shoulder and rested by his right hip.

"Speak," Peter commanded, and the man bobbed his head.

"Your Highness, His Majesty requests an audience with you, immediately," the Messenger reported.

Peter blinked. Usually, his father would come to see him personally instead of calling him down during the middle of the day. That he was interrupting his usual Court session, with a Summon of all things, was proof that the matter to be discussed was very serious indeed.

"I would have the note," Peter said, unable to keep his curiosity from leaking into his voice.

Obediently, the Messenger reached into his satchel to produce the statement, handing it to Peter in a reverent fashion.

"Thank you, you may leave now," Peter said, absently, tapping the parchment with his fingers worriedly.

The Messenger hesitated, before bowing his head again and exiting the room.

Once he was gone, Peter broke the seal on the scroll and scanned the sheet. Unfortunately, there was no reason to the Summon at all. It merely stated that should he be so considerate, would he make his presence known in the Throne Room at the immediate time upon which he received the letter.

Frowning, he rolled it up again, wishing he had asked the Messenger for some more information, but it was already too late because the man was gone.

A part of him wanted to ignore the note all together – Peter held a certain grudge against his father at the moment because he had suddenly forbid his friends to visit. The explanation had been vague, something due to the fact that they were negative influences on him.

Whatever that meant.

As far as Peter was concerned, James, Sirius and Remus had made his life far more interesting than it had ever been. They had taught him how to play cricket and how to climb walls. With James, he had delightful debates about politics and fervent discussions about strategy in certain situations. It had taken a while to get over the fact that he would not always be right, and, under James' tutelage, he began to think things through from different angles. With Sirius, conversations usually tended to be about people and sports while Remus was a ball of jokes and entertainment.

He missed them fiercely. Since their dismissal from the Palace grounds, Peter had resumed his monotonous days alone, burying himself in the comfort of his books, his condition steadily getting worse as he pined away for them.

Yes, he was sorely tempted to refuse the Summon.

But he knew that if he didn't respond, his father would probably think something terrible had happened to him.

The thought of going down to the Court was nauseating. If there was one thing Peter disliked, it was putting on the grand airs in front of an audience. While he should have been used to doing so by now, he still felt awkward about it. He would much rather talk to his father in private, where all the rituals could be skipped.

With a sigh, he called in his attendants and asked them to help him dress, for it would not do to announce himself wearing plain clothing. Royal Robes were always donned within the Throne Room by the members of the Royal House.

In moments, despite all the articles and accessories, Peter was ready to go, clad fully in gold garments, accentuated with bits of red and white peaking through the folds and layers. His sash was cinched a bit too tightly around his waist and this he twisted until he could breathe more comfortably before he made his way down the stairs.

Wherever he passed, people dipped him courteous bows and as usual, he ignored them. He really disliked it whenever he received unwanted attention. Could one not go to see one's own father without all the excitement? He was glad when he reached the doors to the Throne Room and spoke with the Heralder, showing him the Summon.

It was a few moments more before Peter was ushered inside, and all those present within the room turned their eyes on him as he stood on the threshold, trying to hold his head high.

There, at the end of the long, red carpet, on a raised platform, stood three thrones, one of which was occupied by a woman – his Lady mother. His father stood just in front of the middle-most throne, his hands clasped behind his back, waiting.

"Your Majesties, may you live long and prosper!" Peter bid, bowing formally, once he reached the end of the aisle.

"And you, Your Highness," the King replied, heartily.

"I have come at your request, my lord," said Peter. It must be confessed that his voice sounded bitter, and that he could not look his father in the eye.

The King seemed to pause for a second, meeting his wife's gaze before clearing his throat and saying, "You're probably wondering why I called you down here. Well, you are to pack your bags and leave the Palace once you are done doing so."

At that, Peter straightened. Leave? Had he done something wrong? Maybe it was because of their last argument…or maybe it was because his health wasn't getting any better. In confusion, he took a step forward. "But…I…"

But the King interrupted him, gently. "Peter, I'm not banishing you. I'm merely sending you to a place that I think will be…" again, he glanced at his wife who smiled back, encouragingly, before finishing, "beneficial for you."

In a small voice, Peter repeated, "Beneficial?"

"We are sending you to school, my love." His mother spoke for the first time, her smile widening slightly. Her voice was just as beautiful as the rest of her. Like him, she had a round face and hair that was fair, shimmering a golden-white around her shoulders. "We would like you to enjoy new experiences."

In disbelief, Peter demanded, "School?"

"Would you not to like to make new friends?" the Queen asked.

Friends.

"I've already made friends," the boy said, heatedly. If this was their way of making him come out of his misery, well, they were going about it all wrong. He didn't want new friends: he wanted James, and Sirius, and Remus.

The King seemed to get the hint. "It was they that convinced me that this path was the best for you, that within the walls of H.W. Academy, your potential would grow."

At that, his wife laughed. "And my goodness how they insisted upon your release! They requested an audience with your father nearly every hour of every day, you know."

They had?

But his mother was not done musing yet. "At first your father would not hear of it, but eventually, they won him over to the idea."

Even the King seemed amused by the memory because the corners of his mouth were tugging upward as well. "Sir James and Sir Sirius seemed adamant that you join them."

"But I am not of age, yet!" Peter said, his thoughts all in a blur. "And what of my title?" He toyed with the thought of the young noblemen and noblewomen who would distance themselves from him as though he bore a plague, and shuddered.

His father answered that question, though all traces of his emotions were masked quite efficiently. "You will register under a different name. I've had words with the Headmaster, and I'm sure you will be placed appropriately."

Still feeling as though things were too good to be true, Peter asked skeptically, "And what of my health?"

"Madam Pomfrey is known to be one of the best nurses in all of England," Matheson replied. "You will, of course, have attendants with you. And you will be watched every minute of the day."

Aghast, Peter couldn't help but make a face. "Guards?"

This time, the voice that answered that question was different, and Peter spun on his heels to face James, whom he had not noticed, kneeling to the side just a little ways away from the rest of the crowd. Sirius was beside him, and discreetly, he grinned up at Peter and winked. "No, my lord. I think being inconspicuous would be the best sort of protection. Having guards will only cause people to question your background. I have given my word to your Lord Father that I shall make sure no harm comes to you while you are away from home, even if I have to lay my own life down for your protection."

"Sir James has thought it out very carefully," the King told Peter, grudgingly. "I see no reason why I should not give you your greatest desire."

Peter was speechless as he turned things over in his mind. He was going away. He was going to be free. It was all too much to hope for: surely there was a catch. "I would know your conditions, Your Majesty," he said, at last.

The King moved over a few steps to stand next to his Lady who slipped her hand in his. Whether it was a gesture of confidence on his behalf or merely for encouragement on hers, Peter didn't know. What he did know was that a look of raw fear and worry passed through both their eyes at that moment. "The conditions, Your Highness, are that you are to return to the Palace immediately if your health turns for the worse. I will leave that judgment to Madam Pomfrey, of course."

Still feeling around for any holes in the agreement, Peter nodded and asked, "Is that all?"

"Do you not wish to go, my son?" His mother asked.

"I…"

"You are free to join your friends if you wish. If it makes you happy, then we wish for nothing more," Matheson assured him.

Peter nodded, solemnly, a rush of happiness surging through him, making his whole body tingle in excitement. Without thinking, he launched himself up the steps and threw his arms around his father, his childish laughter ringing through the room, knocking the elder man back two steps.

"Oh, Father! Thank you! Thank you so much!"

Everyone in the Court watched in amusement as the King tried to right himself again. It made them grin at the way Peter seemed more enthusiastic than normal. When Matheson was finally able to pry himself loose, he set Peter back and knelt so that he was face to face with his son. "I will pray for your safety, but you must be obedient and well behaved for these gentlemen. I am, after all, putting you in their care."

"Yes, sir."

"And you will do your best to learn everything you can, while you are away."

"Yes, sir."

"Good." Matheson gazed at his son, proudly. It was a known fact that the man adored his son more than anything in the world. "You will learn a great many new things. Always remember that those below you are the ones you are going to lead and take care of. They are the ones that will give you strength to do what you must and the wisdom to decide what is right."

Peter nodded again, saying, "Yes, Father." And with no more words left to say, he hugged the elder man fiercely and bid farewell to his Lady Mother.

0-0-0-0-0

No bowing.

No scraping.

No titles.

Normal.

Peter found himself at the Academy, standing in front of an audience who watched him with open curiosity. It was just as James had foretold – no one recognized him. He cleared his throat to introduce himself.

He was under a spotlight again, but this time, he didn't mind at all.

"My name is Peter…Pettigrew. It's nice to meet you all."

To Be Continued…


AN: I know some of you were surprised at the ending of the last chapter. Peter does not dislike the general public, more that he is afraid of anyone ever finding out his identity. I hope that cleared things up slightly.

Again, I apologize for the late update. The next one won't be so long in coming, I promise, even though school is back (and I hope everyone is enjoying it so far!) I hope to bring relief from it with a chapter or two this month. While you wait, please do leave me a review, and thanks for reading,

-P.P.V.V.