Classes:
Peter entered the Great Hall by himself and looked around. It was still filling up with students who just woke up. Expecting a good turn to his stressful morning, he made his way to where his brother was sitting.
"Hey, Draco," Peter called.
Draco lifted his head from his breakfast to acknowledge Peter, but almost immediately a student from an older year stepped in between them.
"What do you think you're doing here?"
Peter realised then how much he stood out being the only one with a red scarf in a sea of green. He sighed. "Sitting with my brother."
"You're not allowed, Gryffindor."
"Says who?" Peter stood taller to meet the older student's height. He never hesitated on taking things physically if he had to. He was certain he was stronger than everyone.
"Says me," came a deeper voice.
Peter turned around to a prefect badge, pinned to Marcus Flint's chest. He stared blankly up at the fifth year, thinking why he, of all people, would be telling him off. Despite their age difference, Peter considered Marcus to be a close friend.
Having no words come to him at the moment, he merely frowned as a response.
"Need I say more and extend your detention?"
"Nah," Pater said disdainfully. Stepping backwards, he muttered under his breath: "Whatever."
He glanced towards Draco's direction, who was now snickering along with the students who overheard the altercation. Peter gave him a look and Draco merely shrugged, not unlike how Peter did at the feast last night.
"Yeah, that's right."
"Walk away, kid."
Taunts and insults were thrown at Peter as he turned and walked brusquely to the other end of the Great Hall, towards the Gryffindor table. He didn't know what to think, he was just ready to disappear at this point.
He walked on soberly and stopped next to where Neville was sitting.
"Hey, Neville," he greeted, almost pleading for a friend. "I can call you Neville, right?"
"Only if we can call you Peter," interrupted an older redhead from behind him.
"We heard what you did this morning!" said another, identical to the first one.
"Genius, you are! Harry Potter's face on everyone's beds! What an idea!" The redhead slapped Peter hardly on the back. "I'm Fred, by the way, and this is my brother, George."
"Great, more Weasleys," Peter muttered, causing the twins to start howling in laughter as they staggered their way towards the other end of the Gryffindor table.
"Now that the blood traitors are away." Peter grinned and dropped himself to the seat next to Neville. He waited for a reply, but when it didn't come, he began to feel awkward.
Oh, right. His parents were tortured by Death Eaters. Crap. What should he say? He should apologise… or he could change the topic quickly.
He looked at Neville's head. "Nice hat."
"I'm not wearing a hat," Neville said, looking up confused. "That's my hair."
Peter chuckled uneasily. "I know, I was kidding," Peter nudged Neville's arms with his elbows. Does this kid not laugh at all?
Peter was slowly starting to want to get up and sit with the Weasley twins. He looked to where they were eating and saw nothing but flying mashed potatoes and spoons being shoved up a poor second year's nose. Never mind.
Perhaps he should just move to an empty space in the table. At least there he'll be alone, so he won't feel the pressure to keep up a conversation.
Surprisingly, Neville spoke again. "Ron said I shouldn't talk to you if I don't want to be their enemy."
Peter raised his eyebrows.
He's their enemy now, huh? The redhead moves fast, it seems. He won't have a problem with that. In fact, at least now he won't feel as guilty whenever he feels the urge to hurt Harry.
The chatter within the Great Hall was dampened in his ears and he realised how long of a morning it had been for him.
"You know, when they say that to you, they're branding you as a possible threat," Peter said as he piled his plate with food. "They're blackmailing you."
Neville hiccupped.
"They don't see you as a friend. They'll never be your friends." Peter stopped moving to stare into Neville's eyes. "I am your friend. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. You are, aren't you?"
Neville was too unsure to give a proper reply. Quite frankly, even Peter doubted himself. This sucks. Everything about this sucks. Ever since he stepped foot into this castle, nothing good has happened. Why did he have to be in Gryffindor?
-oOo-
Their first class of that day was Transfiguration with the Hufflepuffs, but this did nothing to help his mood. By the end of the class, no one but Hermione Granger was successful at turning a match into a needle.
Charms class wasn't any better, either. Their little teacher showed them the incantation and wand movement in order to levitate a feather, but, yet again, only Hermione was able to lift it off the table.
Peter had to admit that he was impressed. He congratulated Hermione and involuntarily patted her on the back, only to recoil his hands immediately at the touch of her bushy hair. Thankfully, she didn't notice this because Ron decided to start complaining loudly about how the professors are just telling them what to do rather than showing them how to do it. The majority of the class agreed with his statement, to Hermione's ire.
Despite doing the best in all classes and earning the most points so far, every Gryffindor shunned her. What a great house this was.
He sat with Neville again after lunch, though their conversation this time was next to nonexistent. He was slightly disappointed that he couldn't find Hermione anywhere in the Great Hall.
As he entered Potions class, Peter saw her sitting all by herself and felt inclined to join her. He quickly changed his mind, however, when he found out that they were finally paired with the Slytherins.
He caught eye contact with Daphne, who looked away almost immediately. All heads of the other Slytherins turned towards him as a result, all giving him dirty looks. Peter focused his eyes on Draco, who was sprawled on his seat, and with every step towards them, the room got quieter and quieter.
"I'm sitting with you guys," Peter declared.
Vincent snorted and was about to say something, but Draco gave him a mean stare. He looked around the room and cleared his throat, slowly sitting up straight.
"Of course, Pete." Draco then sneered at Vincent and Gregory. "What are you doing, idiots? Move and let my brother sit."
Peter sat down in between the two, a familiar sitting arrangement between the six childhood friends. Nothing felt right this time, though. Daphne was deliberately not looking at him; even Pansy refused to give him any notice. He had never seen Draco looking more uncomfortable around him than now.
Snape finally entered the classroom, looking strangely at Peter as he walked past their table. Peter was afraid he was going to be forced to move again, but to his relief, Harry Potter caught the professor's attention.
"Ah, yes," he said softly. "Mr Potter, our new—celebrity."
Quiet sniggers spread from the Slytherins' side of the room. Peter willfully joined in. He met Draco's eyes and saw a glint of familiarity between them. They were laughing at someone else's expense, but that didn't matter to him. Harry Potter was his enemy now, and he wanted his brother back.
Silence fell just as quickly as it started when Snape loudly flapped his robes and turned around to face the chalkboard, writing down the class introduction.
"Draco," Peter whispered as Snape began his lecture. "I swear I begged the Sorting Hat to sort me into Slytherin, but it wouldn't listen to me."
"Why Gryffindor, of all houses, though?" Draco whispered back irritatedly.
"I told it not to, but—I don't know, it was being difficult and I just wanted it all to be over with at that point and sit with you guys."
"You should've at least gone to Ravenclaw instead!" Draco raised his voice.
"Mr Malfoy, if you don't intend to keep your mouth shut you are welcome to be expelled from this class," said Snape. "Ten points from Gryffindor."
"That's not fair!" Ron complained. "Malfoy—the other one—was the one talking loudly!"
"Another ten points from Gryffindor, now be quiet."
From the other side of the classroom, Harry scoffed.
"Do you have anything to say, Mr Potter?" Snape asked.
"No, sir."
"That's a pity, I expected more from such a famed student. Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Hermione's hands shot up, already to no one's surprise, but Snape ignored her.
"I don't know, sir," said Harry.
"Tut, tut," Snape sneered, "clearly, fame isn't everything."
Peter knew his name wouldn't get called anyway, so he didn't bother raising his hands and just started answering the question. "They're generally used to make the Draught of Sleep, a powerful sleeping potion just below the Draught of Living Death, but using the right proportions, I found that you can also use it to concoct a toxin so poisonous that not even a bezoar can save you when you drink it."
Snape's eyebrows rose in shock. The atmosphere in the classroom suddenly turned cold. "And how did you come about this discovery, Mr Malfoy?"
Peter gave a side-glance to Draco, who had sunk into his seat. He then realised how much trouble they could get into if he revealed this particular story to the class.
He took a breath. As long as he doesn't reveal specific details, they should be safe. There weren't any laws against underage potion experimentation, were there? He met Snape's eyes, who seemed to be staring into his soul. They held eye contact.
"Well, after balancing the magical compounds of the two ingredients, I figured that if I only mixed a fraction of the infusion of one wormwood into a gram of the powdered root, the charges would still cancel out, but the effects would be much stronger."
He didn't specifically say what fraction of wormwood would be needed, and judging from Snape's fixed stare, that was apparently enough comfort for the two of them. No wizard student was going to figure that out.
He also definitely didn't reveal what he and Draco did with the toxin to prove his hypothesis. Peter broke eye contact with the professor and inwardly shuddered. The tragic memory of Felicia, their old house cat, will forever leave a bad taste in his mouth.
"You," Snape said in a deep, resonant voice, "will not be speaking to anyone in this class unless I personally address you, and you are to talk to me after today's lesson. Fifty more points from Gryffindor for talking out of turn. Hopefully by now you've all learned your lesson on when to open your mouths."
The hairs at the back of Peter's neck stood up, and he felt the cold magic emanating from where their professor was standing.
"But sir, I have Defence Against the Dark—"
"After class," Snape said with an air of finality. With that, he turned around and carried on with his lesson.
Great. He managed to get two separate detentions on his very first day. He especially did not look forward to this particular one.
-oOo-
It's been several minutes since the class ended, but it felt much longer. Peter had walked into Snape's private office and was asked to sit down as Snape stood behind his desk. He obliged and subsequently engaged his professor in an intense staring contest for the rest of those time.
He was starting to think this detention wasn't too bad up until Snape started talking.
"What prompted you to… experiment… with this specific potion."
"I'm not sure, sir. I guess it was just a common potion to drink in our house. We have all the recipes for it so I decided to play around with them."
"Potions is not something to be played around with." Snape towered over Peter, wand now at hand. All of a sudden Peter wasn't so sure of his physical abilities.
Peter cowered in his seat but his tongue evidently wasn't fazed. "To be fair, you did say that potion-making is both a science and an art form. You're supposed to experim—"
"Why did you kill that cat?" Snape interrupted.
"Cat—What?"
"Don't play dense with me, child. I know what you did."
"Felicia? How did you—"
"Answer the question."
It was Draco's idea, but he wasn't going to reveal that. Although, come to think of it, Peter wasn't sure how he could keep that secret anymore. This maniac in a school full of children can apparently read minds.
"I'm just more of a dog person," was all Peter could answer.
That caught Snape off guard.
Peter's fist did too. Snape must be a huge fanatic over cats because Peter's senses went to overdrive and he couldn't stop himself from swinging.
As soon as his sucker punch hit Snape in the jaw, he bolted for the door, only to find it locked. He pounded on it, but as he expected, no one answered.
He stepped back and prepared to break himself out, but with a quick side-glance he realised that Snape wasn't going after him. Peeking from behind the desk was Snape's unconscious body sprawled across the floor. There was a pool of blood accumulating on the rug he was laying on.
Peter hastily ran over to him and lifted his head up from the floor. There was no visible head wound, to Peter's immense relief, since he didn't know the first thing to do if there was.
Instead, the blood was coming from Snape's mouth, which was now lacking a significant number of teeth. Peter knew he had to stop the bleeding somehow to prevent blood loss, but he didn't know a single spell on blood clotting. He looked around the office for any ideas.
Snape's face was growing paler by the second so Peter decided he didn't have much time to be choosy. He settled for using his socks as a makeshift gauze, stuffing them into Snape's mouth. Slowly, he the put the professor on his side so that he doesn't choke on anything.
Stepping back, Peter wasn't pleased with his what he saw, but he had to go quickly if he wanted to catch the remainder of Defense Against the Dark Arts. He held the door handle firmly and with one strong pull, the lock broke and the door swung open.
That was easy.
He should've ran across the halls and bursted into Quirrell's classroom by now, but instead he found himself glued to the floor, still in Snape's office.
"Oh, this sucks." He pressed his fingers onto his temples and paced with his eyes closed, deep in thought.
I can't just leave Snape alone. Not in that condition.
His foot caught a low brick step on the floor and he stumbled forward, forcing him to open his eyes. He had paced over to the fireplace.
Of course! I'm such an idiot. He grabbed a handful of Floo powder from the flowerpot on the mantel and threw them into the firebox.
Loudly, he exclaimed, "The Hospital Wing."
Green flame rose up. Peter ran over to Snape's body and quickly dragged him into the fire. Together, they were transported to the infirmary.
It was empty, likely since school had just started and no one is supposed to be injured just yet. Peter settled Snape onto the nearest bed and removed his socks from the bloodied mouth, shoving them into one of his robe pocket. He then ran over to the nurse's door and knocked loudly.
Not waiting for an answer, he was off dashing through the hallway before Madame Pomfrey even got to answering her door.
-oOo-
Unbeknownst to anyone, old invisible blue eyes watched as the young boy rounded a corner.
A/N: A quick thanks Azuthlu/MyBear for beta reading this entire story so far.