Notes: This is a joint fanfic that was written by me and GiantKiller. We
each took charge of a character and wrote from their POV. Peter is done by
me (Skylar Inari) and Charlie by GiantKiller. POV changes with every set of
***
Notes 2: Set after events of the third year, Peter in his search for Voldemort comes across a Weasley in an unexpected place.
Raining in Romania
The rain was coming down in sheets, pounding the cobblestone road with a fury most unlike July's normal calm. Once again he was deeply glad that the pub he had chosen was adjoined to an inn, otherwise he would have had to risk breaking his neck on the slippery ground. Peter Pettigrew, more commonly known as Wormtail sat hunched around his drink in the dark vaguely sinister surroundings. Perhaps that last bit was his own imagination however, he hadn't had much of late to be happy about.
It was all Black's fault. Damn man. Ruining his life.
It would have been perfect, the Potters gone and his Master would have rewarded him beyond his dreams for the gift. Oh, he still would have had to remove Black but that could have been done relatively easily, as with that bedamned werewolf.
So, now here he was, in Romania. Having fled from Black he had left England and any area associated with Hogwarts just to be safe. He took a sip of the Firewhiskey, and glanced around relaxing slightly for the first time in months.
***
Charlie Weasley shook the rain out of his hair and off his cloak in the doorway of the small Romanian pub. Over the five years he had spent in Romania, the pub (and adjoining inn) had become the recreational haunt of the half-dozen witches and wizards employed on the dragon research project, largely because it was the closest wizarding eatery to the preserve. The food wasn't exciting but it was warm and right now that was all he wanted.
He glanced around for a table and a friendly face to share it with. The only other occupants were a handful of locals (none of whom he liked too well) and the resident lovebirds of the research project, Kendrick and Magda (just got engaged and entirely too cute together, better not to disturb them)- and one stranger, a short, balding blond man. Charlie looked over his shoulder to be sure, but the man was definitely staring at him. He made his way past him to an empty table and glanced over his shoulder when he arrived. The watery blue eyes were still fixed on him.
***
Peter felt...well, he didn't know how he felt. The man that had just walked in was undeniably a Weasley. Charlie if he was not mistaken.
His eyes tracked the bulky redhead, barely aware of what he was doing. He had spent quite a few somewhat happy years as 'Scabbers' in that family, seldom resenting his need to remain in animal form.
As such, he could probably recognize a Weasley in the middle of a blizzard, half-frozen and starving. A little bit of rain and muck were nothing. He felt the urge to transform into 'Scabbers' and run over to the man.
Coughing on a sip of Firewhiskey at the thought, Peter hastily tried to mop up the spilled drink that had spluttered from his lips. Why the hell had he thought that? Idiot. Charlie would be flabbergasted at seeing a dead rat alive and well in Romania of all places. He had to assume that Ron would have told his family that 'Scabbers' had died.
Resolutely taking another sip of his drink he resolved to try not to think about any of the Weasleys.
***
Charlie ordered garlicky lamb stew, garlicky cabbage, heavy rye bread and strong black coffee (with garlicky overtones) and tried not to check that the stranger was still staring more than once a minute. Finally he threw the last of the bread crust into the last of the gravy and swiveled in his chair. "What?" He asked the watery-eyed watcher.
***
Peter felt panic well up, he hadn't been able to stop himself from staring as Charlie had eaten. He was so used to looking at the Weasley family as a source of comfort that it took him more effort than he had anticipated to wrench his gaze away.
And judging from the faintly hostile tone of voice and the slight reddening of ears, Peter hadn't been succeeding all that well.
Fighting the urge to cower and beg for scraps like he had used to do with this very person, he groped around for a subject that seemed innocuous enough that could explain his staring.
Finally he gestured to the large, shiny scar on Charlie's right arm. "Just wondering what kind of beast could do that."
***
Charlie relaxed a little and pushed his sleeve back to reveal the scar in its entirety, two long lines joining and then branching again to form a jagged 'x'. "Young adult Norwegian Ridgeback. Call 'im 'Norbert'. Aggressive little blighter, he was pestering the dominant male of a pack of horntails. I intervened and he took a swing at me for spoiling his fun."
The older man looked superficially impressed. "You work with dragons?"
Charlie nodded. "What brings you to Romania?"
***
Peter calmed down a little. Charlie had taken his excuse with an ease that made him wonder if Charlie had gotten that reaction before.
Time for some more lies, he fought back a sigh. He liked the Weasley family, he really did and he wasn't really enjoying this encounter because of the falsehood's he had to hide behind when all of his instincts wanted him to turn into a rat and follow Charlie around.
"Me? Ah, just passing through. Heading towards Albania in the long run, me mam's ill you see and wants her son home in case death comes calling." That was fairly safe. As a thought it was entertaining to imagine Voldemort's face at being called 'mam', but Peter prudently decided that he'd keep that thought to himself when he was in the Dark Lord's presence.
***
"Family obligations, yeah, I know how that can be. I'm the second oldest of seven."
"I know." said the man, then blinked, "What it's like to have a big family, I mean."
Charlie nodded. "Were you at Hogwarts?"
***
Peter took a long drink of Firewhiskey, "Yeah, graduated class of '77. How 'bout you?"
The questions were becoming harder, he had to avoid telling Charlie his real name. After all Peter Pettigrew died nearly 13 years ago and it wouldn't do to be a dead man living.
***
"Class of '89. Charlie Weasley, pleased to meet you." He offered his hand to shake and it was tentatively accepted, noticing the man was short an index finger. "You know, there's something familiar about you, but I can't place it. I though maybe we'd crossed paths at school, but . . ."
"Oh, I get that a lot. I just have one of those faces, I guess." Then man giggled, somewhat nervously.
"I s'pose. You're staying here?" An affirmative nod.
***
"Yeah, I just barely made it here ahead of the rain. Does it rain like this often here?" Peter smiled, he was actually enjoying himself. He just had to stay away from certain topics and this conversation would be, well...fun. "What about you? Where do you stay?"
***
Charlie grinned back. "I've got a cabin back at the dragon preserve, but if the weather keeps on like this I don't know if I'll risk the trip back there tonight. And no, contrary to popular belief, we don't get all that many 'dark and stormy nights' in Eastern Europe. Is this your first trip out here or have you been before?"
It was nice to have someone new to talk to, Charlie thought. He was really warming to the little gent , now that he got to know him.
***
"Yeah, it is. I don't travel all that much really. I'm more of a homebody," Peter leaned back in his seat, warming all over to the second oldest Weasely.
***
"Hey," Charlie asked, acting on a sudden inspiration, "Is your mum well enough to travel?"
"Uh . . ." Said the little man.
"Does she like dragons? You could bring her down sometime, I could show you around the park, what do you think?"
***
"I don't know if she is really. Last time I was home she was able, but if her condition deteriorated as badly as the letter I got implied she probably can't travel."
Charlie's face fell slightly, "That's too bad..."
Peter wished that he was still back at the Burrow, happy as Scabbers. This family was too kind-hearted for their own good but he'd forever have a soft heart towards them.
"We 'll come if we can, me mam's prone to exageration you see so she might well be able to come up here."
"Really? That's good. Mum's a bit like that too, but mostly when one of the family get's in trouble."
***
Charlie leaned back in his seat, looked out through the window by the door. The rain seemed nearly to have exhausted itself now to a feeble patter. He sighed. "I should probably be getting back to the preserve now before it starts again. He offered his hand again and again noticed the man's missing finger. I'm sorry if it's intrusive, but I did tell you mine and I can't help asking. How...?"
***
Peter looked at his hand before smiling slightly, a ready excuse at hand for this kind of situation, "An accident in Care of Magical Creatures was compounded with an infection that was left unchecked for too long to save the finger. It doesn't bother me anymore," He laughed, "I always was a clumsy oaf in that class."
***
Charlie nodded again and sat quietly for a moment, then took a deep breath and picked up his cloak. He dropped a sickle and a couple of knuts by his plate and stood up. "It was nice to meet you. Come by anytime you decide to take me up on my offer."
His mealtime companion nodded and finished his firewhisky. Charlie was halfway out the door when he turned back- "I'm sorry, but I didn't catch your name, Mr. . .?" but the small man with the watery eyes was nowhere to be seen. Charlie stared around in surprise, then looked down at a scuttling sound and watched a large grey rat run toward his boot, pause and seem almost to hug it, then run out the open door and into the night.
End
Notes 2: Set after events of the third year, Peter in his search for Voldemort comes across a Weasley in an unexpected place.
Raining in Romania
The rain was coming down in sheets, pounding the cobblestone road with a fury most unlike July's normal calm. Once again he was deeply glad that the pub he had chosen was adjoined to an inn, otherwise he would have had to risk breaking his neck on the slippery ground. Peter Pettigrew, more commonly known as Wormtail sat hunched around his drink in the dark vaguely sinister surroundings. Perhaps that last bit was his own imagination however, he hadn't had much of late to be happy about.
It was all Black's fault. Damn man. Ruining his life.
It would have been perfect, the Potters gone and his Master would have rewarded him beyond his dreams for the gift. Oh, he still would have had to remove Black but that could have been done relatively easily, as with that bedamned werewolf.
So, now here he was, in Romania. Having fled from Black he had left England and any area associated with Hogwarts just to be safe. He took a sip of the Firewhiskey, and glanced around relaxing slightly for the first time in months.
***
Charlie Weasley shook the rain out of his hair and off his cloak in the doorway of the small Romanian pub. Over the five years he had spent in Romania, the pub (and adjoining inn) had become the recreational haunt of the half-dozen witches and wizards employed on the dragon research project, largely because it was the closest wizarding eatery to the preserve. The food wasn't exciting but it was warm and right now that was all he wanted.
He glanced around for a table and a friendly face to share it with. The only other occupants were a handful of locals (none of whom he liked too well) and the resident lovebirds of the research project, Kendrick and Magda (just got engaged and entirely too cute together, better not to disturb them)- and one stranger, a short, balding blond man. Charlie looked over his shoulder to be sure, but the man was definitely staring at him. He made his way past him to an empty table and glanced over his shoulder when he arrived. The watery blue eyes were still fixed on him.
***
Peter felt...well, he didn't know how he felt. The man that had just walked in was undeniably a Weasley. Charlie if he was not mistaken.
His eyes tracked the bulky redhead, barely aware of what he was doing. He had spent quite a few somewhat happy years as 'Scabbers' in that family, seldom resenting his need to remain in animal form.
As such, he could probably recognize a Weasley in the middle of a blizzard, half-frozen and starving. A little bit of rain and muck were nothing. He felt the urge to transform into 'Scabbers' and run over to the man.
Coughing on a sip of Firewhiskey at the thought, Peter hastily tried to mop up the spilled drink that had spluttered from his lips. Why the hell had he thought that? Idiot. Charlie would be flabbergasted at seeing a dead rat alive and well in Romania of all places. He had to assume that Ron would have told his family that 'Scabbers' had died.
Resolutely taking another sip of his drink he resolved to try not to think about any of the Weasleys.
***
Charlie ordered garlicky lamb stew, garlicky cabbage, heavy rye bread and strong black coffee (with garlicky overtones) and tried not to check that the stranger was still staring more than once a minute. Finally he threw the last of the bread crust into the last of the gravy and swiveled in his chair. "What?" He asked the watery-eyed watcher.
***
Peter felt panic well up, he hadn't been able to stop himself from staring as Charlie had eaten. He was so used to looking at the Weasley family as a source of comfort that it took him more effort than he had anticipated to wrench his gaze away.
And judging from the faintly hostile tone of voice and the slight reddening of ears, Peter hadn't been succeeding all that well.
Fighting the urge to cower and beg for scraps like he had used to do with this very person, he groped around for a subject that seemed innocuous enough that could explain his staring.
Finally he gestured to the large, shiny scar on Charlie's right arm. "Just wondering what kind of beast could do that."
***
Charlie relaxed a little and pushed his sleeve back to reveal the scar in its entirety, two long lines joining and then branching again to form a jagged 'x'. "Young adult Norwegian Ridgeback. Call 'im 'Norbert'. Aggressive little blighter, he was pestering the dominant male of a pack of horntails. I intervened and he took a swing at me for spoiling his fun."
The older man looked superficially impressed. "You work with dragons?"
Charlie nodded. "What brings you to Romania?"
***
Peter calmed down a little. Charlie had taken his excuse with an ease that made him wonder if Charlie had gotten that reaction before.
Time for some more lies, he fought back a sigh. He liked the Weasley family, he really did and he wasn't really enjoying this encounter because of the falsehood's he had to hide behind when all of his instincts wanted him to turn into a rat and follow Charlie around.
"Me? Ah, just passing through. Heading towards Albania in the long run, me mam's ill you see and wants her son home in case death comes calling." That was fairly safe. As a thought it was entertaining to imagine Voldemort's face at being called 'mam', but Peter prudently decided that he'd keep that thought to himself when he was in the Dark Lord's presence.
***
"Family obligations, yeah, I know how that can be. I'm the second oldest of seven."
"I know." said the man, then blinked, "What it's like to have a big family, I mean."
Charlie nodded. "Were you at Hogwarts?"
***
Peter took a long drink of Firewhiskey, "Yeah, graduated class of '77. How 'bout you?"
The questions were becoming harder, he had to avoid telling Charlie his real name. After all Peter Pettigrew died nearly 13 years ago and it wouldn't do to be a dead man living.
***
"Class of '89. Charlie Weasley, pleased to meet you." He offered his hand to shake and it was tentatively accepted, noticing the man was short an index finger. "You know, there's something familiar about you, but I can't place it. I though maybe we'd crossed paths at school, but . . ."
"Oh, I get that a lot. I just have one of those faces, I guess." Then man giggled, somewhat nervously.
"I s'pose. You're staying here?" An affirmative nod.
***
"Yeah, I just barely made it here ahead of the rain. Does it rain like this often here?" Peter smiled, he was actually enjoying himself. He just had to stay away from certain topics and this conversation would be, well...fun. "What about you? Where do you stay?"
***
Charlie grinned back. "I've got a cabin back at the dragon preserve, but if the weather keeps on like this I don't know if I'll risk the trip back there tonight. And no, contrary to popular belief, we don't get all that many 'dark and stormy nights' in Eastern Europe. Is this your first trip out here or have you been before?"
It was nice to have someone new to talk to, Charlie thought. He was really warming to the little gent , now that he got to know him.
***
"Yeah, it is. I don't travel all that much really. I'm more of a homebody," Peter leaned back in his seat, warming all over to the second oldest Weasely.
***
"Hey," Charlie asked, acting on a sudden inspiration, "Is your mum well enough to travel?"
"Uh . . ." Said the little man.
"Does she like dragons? You could bring her down sometime, I could show you around the park, what do you think?"
***
"I don't know if she is really. Last time I was home she was able, but if her condition deteriorated as badly as the letter I got implied she probably can't travel."
Charlie's face fell slightly, "That's too bad..."
Peter wished that he was still back at the Burrow, happy as Scabbers. This family was too kind-hearted for their own good but he'd forever have a soft heart towards them.
"We 'll come if we can, me mam's prone to exageration you see so she might well be able to come up here."
"Really? That's good. Mum's a bit like that too, but mostly when one of the family get's in trouble."
***
Charlie leaned back in his seat, looked out through the window by the door. The rain seemed nearly to have exhausted itself now to a feeble patter. He sighed. "I should probably be getting back to the preserve now before it starts again. He offered his hand again and again noticed the man's missing finger. I'm sorry if it's intrusive, but I did tell you mine and I can't help asking. How...?"
***
Peter looked at his hand before smiling slightly, a ready excuse at hand for this kind of situation, "An accident in Care of Magical Creatures was compounded with an infection that was left unchecked for too long to save the finger. It doesn't bother me anymore," He laughed, "I always was a clumsy oaf in that class."
***
Charlie nodded again and sat quietly for a moment, then took a deep breath and picked up his cloak. He dropped a sickle and a couple of knuts by his plate and stood up. "It was nice to meet you. Come by anytime you decide to take me up on my offer."
His mealtime companion nodded and finished his firewhisky. Charlie was halfway out the door when he turned back- "I'm sorry, but I didn't catch your name, Mr. . .?" but the small man with the watery eyes was nowhere to be seen. Charlie stared around in surprise, then looked down at a scuttling sound and watched a large grey rat run toward his boot, pause and seem almost to hug it, then run out the open door and into the night.
End