Peter didn't sleep easily that night, he wished he could be homesick, but he hated it there and he hated it here. The teachers looked down at him, they knew he was bad. He wasn't smart either, so he was useless. He lay awake, looking at the ceiling. The boy who spent a lot of time away was sleeping next to him. He missed school about three days a month. Even so, he managed to get the highest marks in the class. But that marked him as different, so he was alone. That boy was always tired, his hazel eyes were pale and sleep deprived often. Peter wondered if he was just like himself. There was something there underneath those eyes, something that only a shared knowledge could recognize. He saw pain just like his own. People who don't know it by experience don't recognize it. But Peter saw in the boy with dusty brown hairs eyes the pain that they shared but kept to themselves. Still, Peter knew that this boy wasn't bad, this boy was simply lonely. He heard the light breathing to his right, saw the uncomfortable twists and turns in his sleep. Nightmares were something gratefully foreign to Peter, but he still knew those when he saw them.

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Class was the next day, the young professor McGonagall was teaching her transfiguration class. Even for such a young teacher she was strict, even though the Slytherins could sometimes frazzle her. She rarely lost her cool, and she tried to be fair. And she was, because she had been a student up until fifteen years ago herself. She understood the kids a little better than some of the other professors, and she had been watching Peter Pettigrew very carefully. Still, she had no idea what it was that troubled her about him. She decided to contact the headmaster, Albus Dumbledore.

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Peter stared at his books, trying to make sense of the incantations. His eyes tried to trace every movement of the diagrams, following their movements. Even though he had seen professor McGonagall demonstrate, he couldn't remember it. Watching closely, he mimicked the wand movements. No, not left; it was right. Flick, not jab, no! He couldn't seem to get it. Professor McGonagall came around, and asked him how he was doing. "Can you turn the matchstick into a needle yet, Peter?" He nodded, but he had lied. Of course not. Inside he felt like bawling. But he couldn't let her know that he was a bad boy, a stupid boy. "Let's see then." Oh no, the plan had backfired, he shouldn't have been so stupid, stupid, stupid. He tried, going pale as he did the wrong thing over and over. "Peter, would you please stay here after class?" She said softly so that the rest of the class couldn't hear.

Oh no, this was bad. No, he was bad. He couldn't focus for the rest of class, his hopeless incantations becoming less than ineffective and starting to become dangerous as the matchstick set itself alight and began to burn green flame. Suddenly, class was over. He stayed and stared at the desk. Professor Minerva McGonagall sat, tight lipped at her desk until the last stragglers had left.

"Peter, come over here to my desk." Peter stood up but never made eye contact, he knew what was coming next. He flinched as she raised a hand to the loose bun in her hair to push back a few stray strands. This unnerved her, she had no idea what to do, but she knew she had to say something. "Peter, why did you lie?"

He stared at his feet, robes dangling to the floor covering all but his toes.

"Peter." Her voice was gentle but firm. Still, something broke her normally strict attitude. Something was different here, something, something, something... "Peter, if something is bothering you, just tell me."

No, he couldn't do that, he was bad and saying that would make her want to hit him. But he saw in her eyes a real compassion, not the superficial love his daddy gave him. Still, he couldn't, couldn't say. He put a jagged fingernail up to his mouth, a nervous habit of nibbling had cut them down to the quick. He had to keep the secret. He could be a good boy.

McGonagall watched as he began to rock back and forth, not seemingly noticeable to himself. Her eyebrows knit and her lips disappeared into one thin line. "Peter, you can go for now, but please, you won't get in trouble for asking for help." She gave a sincere smile, but as he started for the door she began to bite her thin lower lip.

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Remus woke with a start, the ghosts of his nightmares following him into wakefulness. His body had broken out into a cold sweat. He looked around the room, it seemed he had given the boy in the bed to his left quite a start. The little round face turned to him, wide-eyed but intrigued. "Are you alright?" asked the face peering through the darkness, pools of light from a crescent moon illuminating only the accents of the two boys faces in the blackness. The silver gilded eyes of the round boy looked over with genuine concern, something that made Remus Lupin rather uncomfortable and he shifted his gaze to the window on the far end of the room behind the boy's head. He didn't even know his name.

"I'm Remus," he said. "What's your name?" The awkward whispers cut through the silence.

"I'm..." he considered something for a second, "Peter."

The two had unspoken questions for one another, kindred spirits, isolated in their own fears. They were there, connecting but never really making a breakthrough with each other. They both slept easily that night, somehow changed by such a simple exchange of words.

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Potions class was with the Ravenclaws, and Peter saw the one boy who always sat by himself. His dark greasy hair shimmered in the torchlight of the dungeons. Peter somehow knew that he excelled in this class, and he knew a fair amount about the Dark Arts. This boy both intrigued and frightened Peter, even as a ten year old. In the library, this boy could always be seen with his hooked nose in a book. They were working on a simple potion for curing boils, and Peter as always was having problems. Professor Falask was sitting silently, grading papers from his fifth year class. His long pointed nose was out of proportion with his face, and he had tiny spectacles through which he always squinted.

Then Peter saw them, the other two Gryffindor boys who shared his dormitory. One had round glasses and a permanent mess of dark hair. The other boy was most certainly a very attractive young boy who had a bright future ahead of him. Both of these boys were charismatic and had won over many of the older students up into fourth years. The one with the glasses was known to everyone as James, and the other was Sirius. The two were known by everyone, even Peter and Remus knew them, although they were the outsiders, set apart by their differences.

The two boys sat near the greasy haired boy. They constantly talked and giggled, laughing at some joke that only they seemed to find funny. Then Peter's ears picked it up, a faint farting noise. He almost giggled himself, then he caught it and turned back to properly adding the ingredients. He stuck out his tongue in concentration. He noticed Remus for the first time in class, carefully but deftly adding each ingredient.

He turned back to the two dark haired boys, suddenly a purple spark jumped out from underneath the cauldron that the two had been prodding with their wands. The greasy haired boy was getting ready to put his finished potion in a flask when the spark landed in the cauldron and it went up in flames, then exploded getting green liquid everywhere and all over the greasy haired boy. He turned around, covered in green and sprouting welts all over his face. A look of pure fury had possessed his face, and the other two boys were momentarily stunned out of their laughter. The suprise on their faces didn't end there.

"You idiots! What were you doing that for? You wrecked it. You ruined my potion, I'm going to fail because of you." he hissed. His dark eyes burned with a fervour that actually frightened the other two. Then James spoke, "It was an accident, we're sorry." his voice was low.

Sirius suddenly retorted, he obviously wasn't sorry, "Sorry for what? He doesn't care that its an accident. You can see that."

James looked shocked at Sirius' behaviour. He didn't usually act this way. But what James didn't realize is that some deep contempt, a primal force had lit inside of him. Even Sirius wished he could take that moment back, but he couldn't.

Severus got up and headed for the hospital wing, passing the ever oblivious professor Falask who had not seen anything. James finished their potion, and corked a third flask, handing it in under the other boy's name.