Author's Note: I know I said I wasn't going to write "The Life and Times of Peter Pettigrew", but I guess I lied. This is slightly ripped off of "Sorting Fred" by Morrighan, which I highly reccomend.
And unless my Muse runs off with one of Dionysus' boys in the near future, expect more stories featuring Pettigrew, the Sorting Hat, and the Founders, though not neccesarily all together.
"Pettigrew, Peter," Minerva McGonagall's voice rang out across the Great Hall. The Sorting Hat worked very hard to keep what passed for its mind blank, as it didn't like making premature judgements, but it did rather think that Pettigrew was a very Hufflepuff sort of name.
There was a faint, familiar whoosh as small, nervous fingers picked it up, nearly dropped it, and finally plunked it down on a slightly plump, dirty blond, nervous head. "Hmmm," the Sorting Hat murmured to itself, by way of getting things going. "Hmmm."
There was definitely more in here than merited a quick shove toward Hufflepuff, as the hat had originally thought. There was loyalty, yes, and dedication. But there was also fear; a sort of desperate need do be accepted, respected, admired, that would serve quite well in Slytherin. Hmmm...
Perhaps he would do well in Ravenclaw, the Sorting Hat wondered. Though he didn't really have all that much talent, nor did he really seem extraordinarily clever, his fierce determination and - admit it - pig-headedness could take him places, especially in the studious environment of Ravenclaw. And he didn't have much of a sense of humor, either. He'd fit right in.
And yet, something hinted to the Sorting Hat that this just wasn't the answer. Some connection, unknown even to himself, that drew him elsewhere.
The Sorting Hat realized with some guilt that, although they'd been sitting up here for several minutes, it hadn't really said anything to the boy. "So," it said in what it hoped were gentle tones. Peter jumped.
"Y...yes?" he stammered.
"What do you think?" it said, surprising even itself. Although nearly everyone had their own ideas about where they should be Sorted, the Hat didn't recall ever asking anyone for their opinion before.
"I...um...well...I'd thought about...Gryffindor?" Peter squeaked.
Surprised, the Sorting Hat considered this for a few minutes. It hadn't even considered Gryffindor before this moment. Peter Pettigrew didn't seem particularly brave, or noble. The problem was, he didn't seem particularly anything. But there was that loyalty. And determination. Hufflepuff qualities, usually, but there was also that bond, that connection, that seemed to be saying that Gryffindor was right for this boy.
Besides, it thought idly, still shocked at its own willingness to go along with this, he didn't fit anywhere else. And it might be fun to do something on impulse for once.
"All right, then, it'll be GRYFFINDOR!" cried the Sorting Hat at last. Peter picked up the hat and sat it shakily on the recently-vacated stool and staggered off in the direction of the screaming Gryffindor table. The Hat looked off after him absent-mindedly, or would have if it had had eyes, which it hadn't, and wondered what had just happened there. The Hat had the disconcerting feeling that it had been important.