Well, I didn't get as many reviews as I'd hoped for this fic's debut, but I digress—I wasn't expecting many anyway.
This chapter is brought to you by the Magical Menagerie, which is fervently hoping that you take that damn parrot off their hands. No, seriously folks, the parrot's a riot. Take it.
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The House of Wolves
Blotter and Remus looked up as Peter made it just in time before the bell rang, looking for all the world like it was Christmas. The three stared as the mousy boy practically bounced over to where they sat, his cheeks flushed and proud.
"What's with you?" Sirius asked in bewilderment. "They have strawberry pancakes at the breakfast table?"
Peter was about to shake no, but then remembered what Magar said and nodded furiously. Sirius' eyebrows lifted—that had been a joke. He looked at Peter suspiciously, who was now avoiding their gaze and looking about with what almost looked like a superior, knowing expression; like he was the enlightened one in a greenhouse full of maggots. James poked him in the shoulder.
"The only other time I've seen that look was when he accidentally hexed Snape and everybody thought he did it on purpose." James grinned suddenly. "Although I must say, lurid pink horns suited him quite well. Come on Wormtail, spit it out."
"Strawberry pancakes," came the timid reply.
Blotter rolled their eyes. "Whatever," said Sirius, catching the eye of a pretty girl at the table to their right. He winked at her and she blushed heavily. James smirked. Remus cast a suffering look to the heavens.
"Cheers, Remus," said James. "You could be in worse company."
Remus chuckled. "James, if I'm judged by the company I keep, I'm already screwed," he said dryly. James laughed but couldn't argue. He snuck a look out of the corner of his eye to the table, where Lily Evans was listening raptly to Professor Bloom just beginning the lesson. Beside her, Sally Sprout was stiff as a beanpole with attention. James shook his head.
"Brownnosers," he said.
Peter, who had been staring off into space with an odd look on his face, suddenly snapped to the present. "Oh, I don't know. They've got rather pale skin."
The other three stared at him disbelievingly.
"Mr. Potter," said Bloom suddenly, her scratchy voice booming over the assembled heads, "I'm glad to see you're paying attention. Can you tell me the best way to collect melidew from a Shrouded Cactali?"
"Put it near heat," James said promptly. "The plant sweats the melidew out."
Bloom's mouth worked, and then she awkwardly continued her lecture—an irritable old woman with a frazzled afro, she had been dearly hoping to give someone detention so she could make them help her mulch the Biting Begonias. James turned back to the other Marauders. Peter had stopped daydreaming enough to stare at the boy in open admiration. Sirius rolled his eyes at the angry Lily Evans sitting across the greenhouse, and blew a raspberry. She stared a moment, obviously unsure of how to respond to that. She settled with giving a glare.
When the Shrouded Cactalis were passed round, one to every person, Sirius plucked idly at one of the leaves. The Cactali promptly spat in his face. The witnesses laughed and Sirius, never to let a joke go to waste, laughed along with them while wiping the green slime off his face.
"I hope that's poisonous," he heard Lily mutter.
The only one not joining in the fun (aside from Lily—but it was fun just to poke at her) was Peter. Remus slanted him a look as he tactfully lit a small fire in an enclosed center of the table. "Something wrong?" he asked kindly. "You seem a little out of it, Peter."
Peter jumped and blushed. "I'm—um, thinking about our next prank," he said glibly, and much too loudly. Sirius and James immediately reached over the table and clapped their hands over his mouth.
"Shh!" James hissed. "Everyone knows we pull them, but they can't prove it unless you squeal!"
Peter looked horrified. "Sorry," he mumbled through the fingers. "I donf fink anyfody heard."
Blotter relaxed and pulled their hands away. A Cactali had been sneakily snaking a vine up Sirius' robes. He slapped it and the vine quickly retracted. "Wait in line."
Remus and James snorted and went on with their work, oblivious to Peter, who was once again staring out one of the greenhouse windows with a hungry anticipation.
At lunch there was no more whispering from the group huddled near the Ravenclaw table. Magar nodded discreetly at Peter. James, thinking the gesture was aimed at himself, snorted in disgust and marched by without dignifying Magar's existence. Peter followed meekly, having misgivings for the first time.
Should he tell James? Peter slouched low in his seat and willed himself to turn invisible. It was a strange feeling, going and doing something behind his friend's back, but Peter couldn't resist—it was a chance to be part of something bigger. But James would understand if he knew, wouldn't he? Peter seriously doubted this. James usually didn't give a skrewt's ass about stupid people making bad decisions, but if he really thought that Magar's group was a nasty lot, Peter knew James would warn him.
He looked at James laughing with Sirius over something and Remus shaking his head good-naturedly. They would have told. Peter felt a twinge of guilt and couldn't muster up the appetite to eat his green beans—he was such a bumbling boy, and the rest of the Marauders had been kind enough to adopt him into their circle when so many kids (all much more popular than Peter) had tried and failed.
But the more he thought about it, the more confident Peter got. The guilt shrank away, angry and resentful, to lurk in a corner of his mind, to be replaced by eagerness and a sort of dazed excitement. Peter's hand trembled as he handled his fork. A secret society… His lips stretched wide. He didn't dare to look at Magar lest James suspect something.
I'll just meet him Saturday and see what it's all about, Peter thought trying to pacify the lingering shadow of doubt. No harm there.
He dug into his beans with renewed vigor.
"Yahtzee!" Sirius cried happily from his seat. "Who says Muggle games aren't any fun?"
Saturday came quickly. The guilt was now a passing memory. Anticipation settled there with a pleasant weight, like a child expecting ice cream. Peter willed himself to not look too eager. He wanted to seem mature and sophisticated—after all, not just anybody was invited to the club, Magar said. They had to be special. Peter was special.
When it came time for him to meet Darby Magar, Peter had to constantly slow down from running in the hallways. If he kept going like this, he would be ten minutes early—couldn't have that! He needed to be fashionably late—but not so much that they wouldn't think he wasn't interested. Peter stopped completely and to stall, closely examined a suit of armor. He had seen the suit a thousand times before and it had never held any sort of fascination for him before—and didn't now—but to anyone else it looked like Pettrigrew was peering professionally at every crack.
After exactly five minutes and forty-two seconds Peter decided that that was good enough, and hurried the rest of the way with a small skip in his step. He was pleased to note that when he finally arrived at the designated spot, he was approximately four minutes and sixteen seconds late and Magar was already there. Peter's small smile faded as he saw the impatient look on Magar's face as the boy tapped his foot against the stone floor.
He looked up as Peter approached and the frown quickly vanished with a smile, so fast that it seemed like the scowl had never been there at all. He went up to shake Peter's hand. "Glad you could make it," he enthused. "A little late, that's fine; but if you join, we like our members to be on time."
"Sorry," Peter mumbled. "I got lost." He cringed inwardly—that was worse than being 'fashionably late.'
With his gaze turned to the floor, Peter didn't notice the other boy sneer in distaste. "Come on," said Magar. "I'll show you the lot." He winked. "They only bite once."
So do werewolves, a nagging voice in Peter's head said. He shoved it away and followed Magar down the hallway, trying very hard to look like he hadn't walked down it a thousand times.
The boy led him through several corridors until finally resting in front of a rather grotesque gargoyle. "Harlequin," said Magar clearly. The gargoyle suddenly sprang to life. Stone muscles rippled and the gargoyle stared balefully at Peter before reluctantly stepping aside, hissing at the mousy boy while he passed. As soon as the two went in, the stone beast eased back into place to glare at passerby.
Peter whimpered slightly as he walked through the dark passageway, lit only by Magar's wand tip. Peter didn't even think to light his own. He tripped over stairs and stumbled down steep descending halls.
It seemed like an eternity before they stopped at level ground. Moisture dripped from cracks in the stone above his head—they were very far down, even below the dungeons. A dank musty smell invaded Peter's nose, and in some spots was so strong that it made his eyes water.
"Just a bit farther," Magar's voice came floating back to him. "All right there, Peter?"
"Sure," said Peter, who was flatly lying. He was enormously relieved when at last Magar stopped—Peter couldn't tell until he ungracefully ran into the boy—in front of a door, framed with writing barely illuminated by the dim light of Magar's wand. Magar waved at it.
"No one really knows what it says," he explained. "Yatcher Harley thinks it's a curse, but nobody's grown an extra head yet." He laughed and Peter nervously did the same, not really seeing the joke but going along with it anyway.
Magar pushed the door open and Peter followed, and took in the scene.
They were in a great stone dungeon; enormous, bigger even than the Great Hall. Peter had no doubt that a full game of Quidditch could be comfortably played in there. Everywhere he looked, there were painstakingly carved runes and symbols framing the frowning mouths of ancient gargoyles.
All in all, it was rather like a giant crypt.
The only thing that looked recent was a large silk banner draped from an overhanging on the far wall, visible even to Peter standing on the other side of the massive dungeon. A wolf's snarling, lean form was silhouetted in silver against a sold black background. Beneath the wolf, written in spidery silver letters, was La Camera dei Lupi.
"The House of Wolves," Magar explained upon seeing Peter's curious gaze. "That's our mascot."
Peter blinked. "'House'?"
Magar led Peter down the dungeon. Several members were already there, milling around and laughing with each other, looking at the two out of the corners of their eyes. Peter tried to square his shoulders like James and Sirius always did. Magar talked while they strolled down the floor.
"This house is nearly as old as Hogwarts itself," he said proudly. "It's not a club, not really…it's hard to explain." He thought for a moment. "Have you ever felt like you didn't really belong in Gryffindor, Peter?"
"Everyday," mumbled the boy.
"Excellent," laughed Magar. "We know exactly how you feel. Each member here disagrees with the house they were placed in—in fact, every one of us don't really see a single one of the original houses that we'd really fit in. Do you know why that is, Peter?"
"No," said Peter honestly.
"It's because we're too good for all of them. We are the elite, Peter; we are the few that are bogged down by the flimsy expectations of our Houses. We are better than the rest; each of us possesses the traits of every house. That's why our mascot is a wolf—wolves are cunning, sagacious, brave and painfully honest: if they don't like you, they bite you." Magar winked. "Lupi is the House of the chosen few." He waved a hand at the assembled students. Peter recognized a few of them. "They all have a place here."
Peter nodded politely before Magar's words fully sank in. When they did, Peter's heart nearly stopped.
Chosen few? Did that mean that he, Peter, the awkward, clumsy boy who was just lucky enough to be friends with James Potter and Sirius Black (both of which weren't even in the house!) was an elite? Peter breathed lightly, as though afraid that any more would send the thought away on a breath of wind. An elite…Peter mulled the word over, and decided that he definitely like the sound of it. Peter the Great…it really had a ring to it.
They continued down the dungeon floor until they came to the middle of the room. A long, old stone table large enough to easily seat fifty or more was resting there. Ornate chairs were lined up on each side, and one solitary seat more intricately gilded than the rest sat alone at one end. Each chair was embossed with silver letters that matched the silk banner. Only one chair was missing letters.
"Each chair has a member's name," said Magar.
"So," began Peter hesitantly, "what is it that, er, Lupi actually does?"
Magar seemed to pick his words carefully before speaking. "Well, we practice magic," he said. "That stuff we learn in class is lame. We find out the real spells they won't teach us."
"Why?"
The boy hesitated again. "Because we're waiting."
"For what?" Peter was a little apprehensive.
"For when our time comes," said Magar, no longer smiling. "We are the house of Lupi, Peter. We are the elite, the great—we are the future, the leaders of the future; we are the New Generation. All those other poor saps here cannot possibly comprehend how insignificant they are to the big picture. We are the world's future. Those who aren't are idiots living in a voluntary delusion. We see reality as the way it is: there are only the strong and the weak. We are the strong."
Peter felt strange hearing these words, but was oddly unbothered: everything Magar said made sense. Yes, everybody else was foolish and not as good. Lupi was a house unbroken by differences—there were Gryffindors there, Slytherins, Ravenclaws, and even Hufflepuffs. They worked together in unity towards a common goal. It was a brotherhood.
Magar watched the expressions flitting across Pettigrew's face as though he were reading a book. He knew exactly what the boy was thinking. Magar's lips stretched in a thin smile as another boy approached them.
"This is Shiloh Shanks," Magar said, shaking Peter from his reverie. "He's the vice president."
Shanks had the look of one who would have been handsome if his lips were not frozen in a permanent leer, and if he combed his hair once in a while. It didn't have the casual charm of James' messy trademark mop, but rather a jungle that suggested Shanks had just been caught from the sewers and had never used a comb nor even knew what a comb was. He had the narrow eyes of one who always looked over his shoulder.
Peter shook the boys hand with a weak grip. Shanks noted this but said nothing. If anything, his leer intensified.
"A pleasure," he drawled.
Magar was looking behind them. "And this," he announced, "is our President. Peter Pettigrew, meet Daniel Vargas." He spoke with a sudden formality like the Minister of Magic had suddenly appeared before him.
Daniel Vargas looked Peter over appraisingly. "The new guy, eh?" He sounded confident that Peter would join by the end of five minutes. Vargas had the lean form of a predator—graceful and deadly—and his eyes sparkled with a veiled amusement akin to a hunter looking at his helpless prey. "Nice to meet you," he said. His voice was low and smooth. "I have no doubt that you'll feel comfortable here. That is, if you wish to join?"
"I do," Peter said immediately, not caring how eager he sounded. His mind was filled with images of himself, standing high above those that teased him, with James and Sirius looking on admiringly, wishing they could be him. This was perfect for him—he had never been so appreciated, so seen for what he really was.
"Splendid," Vargas said briskly. He waved his wand absently. A silvery vapor emerged from the tip and drifted lazily over the stone table and to the empty chair with no name on it. The mist solidified and embossed itself on the chair, slithering like a snake to form letters.
Peter Pettigrew was written in silver.
"Welcome to Lupi," said Vargas.
This chapter wasn't as long as I planned, but whatever. Yes, I know there was a lot of Peter in this, but James will be largely featured in the next chapters. This is basically about him, plus it reveals a little more about Peter's character. Plus, I do believe that there might be a little James/Lily coming up sometime, and lots of danger.
Please review! I'll continue anyway, but it's always nice to hear from any readers. If you've got any questions or whatever, leave them in the review or e-mail me with them. My e-mail's on my bio page.
More up soon!
