Band of Brothers
Prelude
Chapter 3
Peter

Peter had never in his life seen someone so angry. The woman towered over the black haired boy, shrieking at the top of her voice and jabbing a bone white finger at him. Instead of being apologetic as any other sensible child would have done, the boy argued right back and made the woman scream even more. Instinctively, Peter slouched against the wall, hoping he wouldn't be noticed. He didn't normally like conflict, and the thought of conflicting with that woman was positively terrifying. The mouse was trembling in his cupped hand. Peter closed his other hand over it and held it to his chest, knowing the creature would feel much better in a dark, warm place where no one could see it… Much like he was feeling at the moment. Suddenly, like a ray of purple sunshine, Mrs. Malkin came to the doorway. The usually friendly witch now wore a tight, professional smile.

"What's the trouble here, then?" Mrs. Malkin asked, folding her hands on her wide hips. The shrieking woman stopped abruptly, and gave Mrs. Malkin an affronted glare.

"I am disciplining my son." She sniffed, then added. "Not that it's any of your business." She spoke as if Mrs. Malkin was nothing more then a nosy five-year-old. Mrs. Malkin's smile became even more fixed, but the way her cheeks were reddening Peter could tell that the other woman had struck a nerve.

"If I could please ask you to discipline him outside, thank you," Mrs. Malkin said briskly. The other woman didn't seem to know how to take this. Her eyes went wide and her mouth open and shut again like a dying fish. Finally the woman drew herself up.

"Do you know who I am? My family tree stretches all the way back to-"

"Then perhaps you can discipline your son at home then, thank you," Mrs. Malkin said. At this, the dark haired boy threw back his head and laughed. Peter stared at him. Was he completely mad! Even the adults didn't seem to know what to make of him.

"You know, Madam Malkin, I think I like you," the boy said. The look his mother fixed on him would have sent Peter diving for cover, but the boy just grinned and said:

"That's two shops in as many days. Must be a new record."

"SIRIUS ONSLOW BLACK! THAT IS THE ABSOLUTE LAST-"

"Outside, please," Mrs. Malkin said in a voice that left no room for argument. The woman gave her a scathing look, then roughly grabbed the boy's arm and began to drag him from the room. He could still hear them, though, as they made their way through the shop.

"I'm sick of this behavior! You certainly won't be getting an owl this year!"

"I don't want a ruddy owl!"
"In fact, Sirius, I don't think you deserve any pets."

"What! You can't-" But whatever she couldn't do was silenced when the shop door slammed shut. Mrs. Malkin sighed heavily, tucking a strand of brown hair under her mauve hat.

"No one has any manners these days." She glanced at him and smiled warmly. "Are you all right, Peter? She didn't start into you, did she?"

"No ma'am."

"That's good. Now, I expect you'll want some robes," she said, pulling out a measuring tape.

"Cricket wings," he said with a small giggle. Mrs. Malkin slapped a hand to her head, knocking her mauve hat askew.

"Oh, I've been so run off my feet today it went completely out of my head." She smiled and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "I think I'm due for a break. Why don't you and I have a spot of tea and then I'll fetch those cricket wings for your mum."

"Do you mind mice?" Peter asked sheepishly, uncupping his hand to show her his new pet. The mouse had calmed down and was cleaning its whiskers.

"Not at all, dear," she said with a warm smile. Peter was led from the room into the business of the main shop. Mrs. Malkin stopped only long enough to tell her sales witch what she was doing then ushered Peter up a long stairwell that corkscrewed up to the second floor. Upstairs was a short cheerily lit corridor with flowered wallpaper that rustled softly from time to time. The few portraits that adorned the walls greeted him warmly as he passed. The parlor was the third door to the right. It was a sunlit room, dripping with lace doilies and occupied by several overstuffed chairs in various sizes and colors. Peter chose his favorite (a royal blue one with legs ending in paws) and settled in comfortably.

"Ah, I'm going to miss these little tea times once you're off to Hogwarts," Mrs. Malkin said, sitting in the chair opposite him and floating a small coffee table over to them with a flick of her wand. "I expect you're excited about it?"

"Yes," Peter said, feeling an uncomfortable little wiggle in his stomach. He was probably more nervous about going then he could ever be excited. It was frightening to think about leaving home for a whole year and living with strangers. Mrs. Malkin didn't seem to notice his worry as she was too busy conjuring a silver tea service with a violet tea cups and pot.

"That's good, dear. That's good. I suppose you'll want to join your parents' house." A tap of her wand made steam hiss from the spout of the teapot and another wave laid out chocolate biscuits, oatmeal cookies and little purple pastries shaped like pointed hats.

"Well, dad was a Hufflepuff and mum was a Ravenclaw," he said, watching absently as she poured his tea and plopped in three lumps of sugar.

"Oh yes, that's right. I was in Hufflepuff myself, you know. I was a right hand at charms…not bad at transfiguration, either, but then Dumbledore was a marvelous teacher. He'll do Hogwarts a world of good. Not that I think it's bad, mind you. Dippet was a wonderful headmaster…. It won't stay warm forever, dear."

Peter blinked, a little startled at the abrupt switch in conversation. Then with a sheepish smile set the mouse on the table to free up his hands and took a sip. For a moment, the mouse did nothing, then scuttled over to the chocolate biscuit tray and looked up at Mrs. Malkin, clearly asking permission. Peter was impressed. That wasn't a normal mouse! It must have been expensive. Well…well if that boy ever came looking for it, Peter would be sure to give it back.

"Clever thing," Mrs. Malkin chuckled. She did a complicated wave with her wand. A chocolate biscuit folded into shape of a tea cup and came to rest in front of the creature. The mouse immediately began to nibble its treat.

"How sweet. What's his name?" Mrs. Malkin asked. Peter thought fast. As far as he could remember, the boy hadn't called it anything. Suddenly his throat felt constricted and the tea cup became slippery under his fingers. Hastily, Peter set it down so as not to drop it. Mrs. Malkin was still waiting for an answer and her gaze was quickly becoming concerned. Peter's heart fluttered slightly and he said the first words that came to his mind.

"Ch…chocolate Biscuit," he squeaked. Mrs. Malkin gave him a puzzled look, but only said:

"All right, dear." And took a sip of her tea. Peter relaxed, trying not to breathe out too deeply. That had almost felt like a lie…. He hated lying. He'd never been any good at it. It was just like that when someone asked him a question he should know but didn't. They continued drinking in silence. Chocolate Biscuit finished his snack and began to sniff along the table.

"I expect your mother is busy," said Mrs. Malkin after a while. "I don't know how we manage to keep up every year. Children grow so much between eleven and seventeen, bless them."

"We're not really busy. Mostly we just get browsers." He helped himself to a few biscuits before he continued. "It doesn't really pick up until Quidditch season. Do you follow a team, Mrs. Malkin?"

"I used to when I was a girl, but I simply don't have the time any more."

"I like the Surrey Selkies. A lot of people don't because they've never been to a World Cup. But they're a really consistent team. They have good solid players and they've come up with some spectacular moves. The only reason that they aren't recognized is because the more popular teams copy them. Adam Culvert was the one who really developed the….Wronski…Defensive…" Peter trailed off as he realized that Mrs. Malkin was no longer listening. Her eyes were glazed over as she held a tea cup halfway to her mouth and muttered something that sounded like "knitting" under her breath. With a sigh, he sent a glance at the mouse, wondering if it had been driving to boredom too. It was a surprise to find Chocolate Biscuit not only awake but watching him, as if waiting for him to continue. He scooped up the mouse and cuddled it gratefully. The movement seemed to startle Mrs. Malkin out of her reverie.

"Oh dear, look at the time." She hustled to her feet and cleared the table with a couple flicks of her wand. A few circly motions and a rather sharp jab produced a salt glazed mug full of cricket wings. "There you go, love. Give your mother my regards. I must get back to the shop." With that, she hurried out.

It wasn't that he didn't know anything, Peter thought as he went out into the sun splashed alley, it was just that he didn't know big things. Most of the things he knew were little tidbits, like little shiny bits of tinsel that no one cared about after the holidays. It was fun to know them, though. He loved to pick out the little details that no one else had noticed. Still, it seemed like there was a reason no one noticed them. As if the details weren't important.

"You'll listen to me though, won't you, CB?" he asked the mouse. Chocolate Biscuit squeaked as if to say yes and scampered up Peter's arm to rest on his shoulder. Peter giggled as the small furry body tickled his neck.

"Here, that tickles." He removed the small creature from his shoulder and smiled. "But I need to hide you. Mum won't let me keep you if she finds you." A new problem presented itself. He wasn't wearing anything with pockets. Well, the mouse was small enough that he could close his fingers over it a little more then halfway. So maybe if he rested his almost closed hand against his stomach, it would be enough. If he went straight up to his room after giving her the cup, it might just work.

Finally he had a pet that was all his own. Oh, they had a cat at home, but she was old and grumpy and liked sleeping more then anything else. They had an owl too, but he was only a loaner from Eeylops. Chocolate Biscuit was all his. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad going to Hogwarts now.

He soon arrived at the shop and went in. Quality Quidditch Supplies was surprisingly full for this time a day. A flock of what looked like second years huddled over the pin bin, searching loudly for their favorite teams. Thankfully there was no one he knew, so he made his way over to the front desk where mum was talking to a middle aged wizard.

"Well our best is the Shooting Star, but since it's premiering it's a little over five hundred galleons. We have a fine selection of Cleansweeps. They may not be the absolute best but they were the broom of choice for the 1958 World Cup."

"1961," Peter said, setting the cup on the counter. "1958 had Comet Chasers." He then tried to get behind her to go for the door that hid the stairs, but she put a hand on his shoulder. Mother gave him a brief 'we need to talk' look, before turning back to the customer.

"He's probably right. Our Peter seems to thrive on little details." She said it with pride and Peter felt his chest warm. If nothing else, mum always appreciated him.

"Smart lad," said the middle aged wizard impatiently. "But I'm not looking for anything league level. I just need something simple for the company team."
"Then I suggest either a Darter or a Hummingbird. We have a full display over there," Mother said gesturing. The wizard nodded and ambled over to have a look. Customer gone, mother turned her full attention on him. Suddenly a small frown creased her face. Peter gulped. Did she notice the mouse? But mother only licked her thumb and whipped a smudge off his cheek. Peter's heart returned to its normal rhythm.

"How is Adeline?" mother asked.

"Fine, I guess," Peter said with a shrug. "We had tea... and she said to give you her regards."

"Mm. Well mind the store for a little while, okay, love?" She took the cup of cricket wings from the counter and sighed down at them. "I have to go make some more Sluggish Snitch Solution, we're nearly out."

"Can't I go up to my r…room first?" Peter asked, all too aware of the furry warmth pressed against his palm."

"No you may not," Mother said, giving him a firm look. "And when I'm finished, you are going to get rid of that mouse." Peter choked. How did she always know?
"But, Mum! It's a magical mouse!" Peter protested as she started to walk away.

"No means no, Peter. Now, tend the counter."

The middle aged wizard was back, clutching a Hummingbird like it was a firework. Peter could have told him that it was a bad turner and that it was right uncomfortable to sit on, but sulkily didn't. The man paid for his broom and a copy of The Easy Guide to Catching Quaffles and was on his way. Peter sighed and let Chocolate Biscuit loose on the counter. He knew the mouse wouldn't chew any brooms. He could teach it not to. When mum said no, though, she meant it. Dad was the only one that overruled her… Pity that he didn't like mice either. Hated rodents of any kind did his dad. Peter rested his chin on his fist and watched Chocolate Biscuit scamper about, sniffing the air excitedly. Why, he would bet everything that Dad hadn't even met a good, decent rodent.

The second year pin browsers came over, and stood for awhile, gabbing about his pet. Chocolate Biscuit put on quite a show for them too, gamboling around the table, rolling over like a dog, chasing his little pink tail. But all too soon, the older children grew tired of the game, paid for their pins and left. Chocolate Biscuit seemed tired too and curled up cat-like in a little patch of sunbeam.

Peter sighed heavily. Minding the store was so dull. He would rather be up in his room, reading an adventure or sketching or something. His room was his favorite place in the house. It was only in there could lose himself in a wild fantasy and forget he was just plain old Peter Pettigrew. Just plain old dumpy little Peter. Up there he could pretend he was a world famous wizard with scores of friends.

Suddenly the shop door opened and Peter looked up, glad at least for something to do. His pleasure was short lived however as he saw the only other person close to his age who lived in the alley. He was a second year Ravenclaw named Johnny Bannon, with mouse brown hair swept up in a cowlick and a snaggle-toothed smile that could frighten a toddler at fifty paces.

Johnny glanced around the shop, probably looking for signs of parents. Peter immediately placed his hand over Chocolate Biscuit and not a moment later; Johnny came sauntering up to the desk.

"Hullo, Lumpy," the boy said, resting his elbow on the counter and grinning. "'What are you doin' today?"

"Minding the shop," Peter said, glad for once he was doing so. Not even he could fault him for that.

"Oh that's right. Little Lumpy has to mind the shop. Must have something to do with that big spot of brown on your nose." Johnny said with a leer. Peter felt his face heat. He would dearly love to tell him what for and send him out in tears. He could always try of course, as long as he didn't mind getting the stuffing beaten out of him. Suddenly Johnny's eyes narrowed.

"What's that you've got under your hand?"

"N…nothing," Peter stammered, quickly closing his hand completely around the mouse and trying to pull it to safety. Johnny's hand slapped over his.

"I don't think so, mate. Show us what you have."

Peter frowned and started to unclench his fingers. The tone of Johnny Bannon's voice left no room for argument. Either he had to show him or get severely beaten later on. Then the door opened behind him and Johnny immediately snapped his hand back.

"Oh, hello, John," said mother, coming to stand beside Peter. "What have you been up to?"

Peter took a step closer to her and couldn't help but smile. That was his mum. Always knew when to come and save him.

"Nothing much, ma'am," Johnny said with a sickeningly sweet smile. That was the main problem right there. Johnny was always the perfect picture of behavior around the adults. Mum and Dad both dearly loved him and more then once, Peter had had to endure a tea or supper with him.

"You're looking a bit peaky, ma'am, if I may say so. You shouldn't be working so hard."

"Ah, bless you, but I could do with a bit more work around here. I rather enjoy it," She gave a small sigh and a tired smile. "As long as I don't have to brew a potion.

"I can make it for you, ma'am," said Johnny with a small bow. "I got top marks on my potions exam. On every exam actually, except for History of Magic…"

"Is Binns still teaching that?"

"Yes ma'am," said Johnny with a sort of grimace. Mother rolled her eyes.

"I doubt that man is ever going to retire."

They continued to talk animatedly about Hogwarts. Peter had the uncomfortable feeling that he was listening to some inside joke. In the very least, it distracted Johnny. Peter pulled Chocolate Biscuit to him and turned his palm up. The mouse blinked at him sleepily, then curled up into a furry little ball and promptly fell asleep. Peter stroked its back with one finger. The front door clattered open and a wave of young voices broke over the shop. By the look of them, Peter would have guessed fourth or fifth years. As usual, they all gathered around the Shooting Star first, oohing and ahhing and wishing they had enough money.

"Well, John, it was nice seeing you," Mother said, putting on a professional smile. "Now why don't you and Peter go out and play?"
"Aw, Mum, do I have to?" Peter whined as she dropped some knuts into his free hand.

"Yes. You've been inside all day." She kissed his forehead and gave him a smile. "Don't worry. You'll have lots of fun, I'm sure. Now, your father has to work overtime so we'll most likely have a late supper, but don't stay out too late."

"Yes Mum," he intoned as she brushed his hair from his forehead.

"Comon' Peter," Johnny said, starting for the door. It took a gentle but firm push from mother to get him going. With a defeated sigh, he began to follow the older boy out the door.

"And don't come back with a mouse!" she called right before the door swung shut behind them.

It was evening in Diagon Alley. The sun was red and beginning its slow descent. There were still quite a few people left, wandering the narrow street. Most of them however were probably looking for a floo queue that wasn't backed up out the door.

Peter watched them as he sat slumped outside of Scrally's Games and Hobbies; sweat still trickling down his neck. He had spent four whole hours being beaten at every game from Wizard Chess to Madam Mim in Muggle Land. Playing with Johnny always made him feel flustered and the more flustered he got the more stupid mistakes he made. Somehow, though, he had managed to keep Chocolate Biscuit hidden, finally resorting to hiding the mouse in the bottom folds of his shirt. He had a bit of a breather now, though. Johnny was still inside, talking in a goofy sort of way to a pair of third year girls who giggled a lot.

With a small smile, he unfolded the mouse from his shirt. Chocolate Biscuit's fur had been severely mussed and it poofed up, making the mouse look rather like a dandelion seed. The creature gave him an annoyed look. Peter giggled and scratched CB's head.

"Sorry about that, but if Johnny sees you-"

"Sees who?" said the boy from directly above him. Peter jumped and tried to hide his pet, but it was too late. Johnny reached down and plucked the mouse from his hand.

"So this is what your mum meant," Johnny said, holding the struggling mouse by its bald tail.

"St….stop! You're hurting him!" Peter cried, struggling to his feet. Johnny smirked.

"Aww, is poor little Lumpy concerned over his little pet?"

"Give him back!" Peter pleaded, holding out his hands but knowing the older boy probably wouldn't.

"Give him back!" Johnny mimicked in a high-pitched voice, tossing Chocolate Biscuit into the air and only just managing to catch him again.

"Don't!" Peter squeaked. "Stop! I…if you don't- I…If you don't, I'll-" But what he could do, he didn't know. He couldn't tell Mum and Johnny was at least a foot taller then him and stronger too. Johnny sniggered and dangled the terrified mouse high above Peter's head.

"What are you waiting for? Come get your mouse!"

Peter danced on his tiptoes trying to reach his pet, but Johnny always snatched it away when he got too close. Grunting, Peter jumped and managed to brush CB's fur. Johnny pushed him back, causing him to stumble and nearly fall. Frustrated tears burned the back of Peter's eyes as Johnny began to laugh. He knew that crying would only make things worse, but he couldn't help it. Johnny would probably really hurt Chocolate Biscuit if Peter couldn't get him back.

"Is the little fat boy blubbing?" Johnny cooed. "You know, I should really do you and your Mum a favor and get rid of it for you. Maybe I'll just drown it."

"No!" Peter yelled, going after him again. Johnny avoided him nimbly and his grin widened.

"Or maybe I'll just crack its skull open. Ever seen mouse brains, Lumpy?"

Peter lunged at him. Johnny only laughed harder and began to run, calling:

"Catch me if you can!" over his shoulder. Peter scrabbled after him, running as fast as he could. It was all he could do just to keep close. Fortunately, Johnny soon ducked inside the used bookstore where at least he could be cornered. Peter picked up his speed and stumbled inside. Unlike Flourish and Blotts which was light and airy, the used bookstore was dark and cloistered. The only light came from the floating candles that seemed to sputter constantly and whatever sun managed to get through the grimy front window. The shop was filled with rows upon rows of bookshelves with narrow aisles that twisted crazily throughout the shop, stretching on far longer then they should. Only brave witches and wizards came in here because it was quite easy to become lost in the dark maze of books. There were even nasty rumors that a pack of students had come in here to do some research and were never seen again.

Peter began to wend his way through the aisle third from the right, completely unafraid. He could find his way around this place blindfolded, which he very nearly had to do anyway. He and Johnny used to play here all the time when they were little. It was fun back then. They would spend hours looking for books or listening to Mr. Singh's spooky stories. Sometimes they would even go on hunts for the lost research students who they pretended had become a tribe of cannibals that wore nothing but the pages they tore out. Then, last year, Johnny had gone to Hogwarts and everything changed. He had always been a bit bossy, but when he'd come home for the winter holidays he'd changed into a full blown bully and Peter didn't know why.

"Who are you?"

Peter looked up as Johnny's snide voice drifted through the air. Another voice murmured an answer that Peter couldn't quite catch. It was almost completely dark now that he was in the store proper. A single candle sputtered overhead, dripping wax onto the carpet. It didn't matter, though. As long as they kept talking, Peter would be able to find them. Excellent hearing was another useless talent of his. In this instance, though, he was rather glad of it.

"And what are you doing in here?" Johnny asked, bossily.

"Reading," said the other. Their voices were coming from the left. They sounded a bit too close to be in the Ancient Charms section and a bit too far to be in the Fairly Odd section, so they must be either in the Truly Terrible Transfiguration section or the Magical Creatures one. Since Johnny adored being clever more then anything else, Peter crept as silently as he could to the Magical Creatures section. Where else would one take a mouse?

He reached the aisle quickly and was pleased to find himself coming up from behind Johnny. A tired looking boy wearing a worn jumper sat at the end of the aisle, facing the Ravenclaw. Two candles floated near him, casting light on his pale face and the huge tome he held on his lap.

"Don't get cheeky with me, runt," Johnny growled. Even though Johnny must have looked intimidating in the half light, the other boy didn't so much as blink. Peter admired his courage and reminded himself that he would need to pluck up some of his own if he wanted to get Chocolate Biscuit back. One of Johnny's hands was lose at his side, but the other was clenched around something.

Peter slunk forward, making only the barest of sounds across the thick carpet. He had come right up behind Johnny when he suddenly realized that the tired boy was looking straight at him. Peter froze, heart thudding in his ears. The boy opened his mouth, maybe to warn Johnny, maybe something entirely different, either way Peter couldn't take the chance. He snatched Johnny's hand and desperately tried to pry his fingers open. The older boy shrieked, wrenched his hand out of Peter's grasp and whirled to face him.

"Who-!" Then, clutching a hand to his chest. "Bloody hellPete, don't do that. You nearly gave me a heart attack!" For a moment, Johnny seemed like a friend again. As much as he knew it wasn't real, a part of him really wanted to believe it.

"Can I have my mouse back now?" he asked timidly.

"After a stunt like that? Not bloody likely. I think I will squash its brains out." Johnny tightened his fist.

"No!" Peter yelled grabbing Johnny's hand again and scrabbling to pry his fingers open.

"Let go of me, Lumpy!" Johnny snarled, trying to yank his hand back. There was only one way to make him let go. Peter jerked Johnny's hand closer and bit the older boy's wrist as hard as he could. Johnny yelped and a white shape fell from his open hand and rested motionless on the floor.

"CB!" Peter started to bend to pick up the creature. Johnny's hand shot out, twisted into Peter's collar and pulled him upright. The older boy's face was completely lost in shadow, but Peter didn't need to see his eyes to know he was beyond angry.

"How dare you! Filthy fat little slob!" Johnny spat. "I am going to make you regret that!" Johnny pulled the fist of his free hand back and Peter automatically sucked in his breath, knowing Johnny was aiming for his stomach. Suddenly a pale hand clamped over Johnny's wrist.

"Don't," said the tired looking boy. Peter stared at him, completely astonished. Didn't he know that Johnny could, and probably would, break him in half? Johnny seemed to realize this too and laughed.

"Right. And a little twig like you is going to stop me." Johnny lurched forward slightly, like he was trying to punch, but his arm didn't move. Twice more, the twelve-year-old seemed to fail in breaking the younger boy's grip. Peter wasn't sure what to think. Was Johnny just playing with the both of them or was the tired looking boy really that strong?

"Hey! What do you think you're playing at! Let me go!" Johnny was trying to sound angry, but there was an obvious quiver in his voice.

"Let him go first," said the other boy calmly. For a moment, it didn't seem like Johnny was going to give in. Then, with an annoyed grunt, he let go. Peter stumbled a bit, absently rubbing the spot where the shirt had chafed him. The tired looking boy kept his grip on Johnny's wrist, though. In the candle's flickering half light, it seemed to Peter that the boy's fingers were tightening. Johnny yelped suddenly and Peter shouted out:
"Hey!" before he thought about it. The tired looking boy snatched back his hand like he'd been burnt. Johnny stayed for a moment longer, nursing his injured wrist, then brushed past him, nearly knocking him down and disappeared into the darkness of the store. Peter stared at the tired looking boy who was holding his own wrist as if it pained him.

"Sorry," said the boy, sounding a bit strained. "It's just--" A shudder passed over the boy, is if he'd just stepped into a cold draft.

"It's just what?" asked Peter.

"Never mind…" said the boy with a wave of his hand. Then he pointed at something on the floor. "Is your mouse all right?"

With a gasp, Peter lurched down and scooped Chocolate Biscuit into his hand. His small pet was completely still. Peter's stomach did a queasy sort of flip and he gently prodded the mouse's limp form.

"C...Chocolate Biscuit?" he whimpered. "W…wake up. Come on, little mate." The other boy had come up to Peter's shoulder and was staring down at the mouse as well.

"It's all right. He's just dazed." The boy put his fingers near Chocolate Biscuit's mouth. "See? You can feel him breathing." Peter followed the boy's example and felt the barest whisper of breath brush across his fingertips.

"He'll be coming around soon, now," the boy said. Peter stared hard at the limp little pile of fuzz in his palm. After what seemed like forever, the mouse twitched slightly and raised its small head. Peter let out a long shaky breath, not even realizing he'd been holding it, and looked gratefully up at the other boy.

That was twice in one day he was saved by people he didn't even know.

"Thanks a ton for everything. Johnny can be a real pill sometimes."

"So I saw," said the boy, going back to his large book and pulling it onto his lap. Peter sat beside him, folding one leg underneath him and stretching out the other. Chocolate Biscuit scampered up his arm and once again rested near his neck. The mouse's warmth comforted him somewhat, but didn't entirely get rid of the knot in his stomach.

"I don't know what I'll do when I get to Hogwarts," he said with a sigh. "Johnny's the only one I know but he says I'll be on my own. He says I'll never make it into Ravenclaw with him. I don't really want to, though. Mum would be proud of course but I don't think I'll fit in. They're supposed to be clever and I'm not really. Definitely not Slytherin either. It's supposed to be a good house, but you have to be from a really powerful family to get anywhere. Mum says there are a lot of bullies there too. So I guess it's a toss up between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. Which do you…" Peter trailed off as he looked at the boy and saw a pained expression on his pale face. Somehow, Peter must have said something that had upset him. Maybe his family was in Slytherin…or maybe he was just as uncertain himself. Or maybe he was just tired of hearing Peter talk. Mum always said he needed to learn to talk with people, rather then at them.

"Er…My name's Peter, by the way. Sorry if I offended you or something."

"Remus. And you didn't offend me at all," he said with a small frown. "What makes you think you did?"

"You looked sort of upset."

"Oh, don't mind me," Remus said with a distant sort of smile. "Today is just not a good day. I need to get home soon."

"So why don't you?"

"Dad is trying to get a job somewhere in the alley. I told him I would wait here until he finished."

"Good luck," Peter said, shifting slightly. "A few weeks ago, they were hiring like mad for the school rush. They won't be now with the start of the term only a week away."

Remus looked so distressed at this news that Peter couldn't help but feel bad.

"They'll probably start again before the winter holiday, though," Peter said reassuringly. Remus gave him a tight smile, but said nothing. The silence stretched on. There had to be something to talk about that wouldn't end up upsetting him. Peter absently glanced over at the huge book sitting in Remus' lap. It was black and was in surprisingly good condition considering the yellowing pages that Peter could glimpse just below the cover. Written across the top in flowing silver script were the words: Werewolves: A History in Fact and Legend.

"Oh, you like werewolves, huh?" Peter said. Remus jumped like he'd been startled and quickly hugged the book to him, like he was trying to hide the title.

"N…no. Not really- I-- I was just sort of bored, and-"

"It's all right," Peter said, getting heavily to his feet and glancing over a nearby shelf. If he remembered right, and if it hadn't been sold, there was a really neat book on werewolves that he and Johnny had read once. Scared themselves positively stupid, too. "Some people think it's weird to like werewolves, but I don't."
"Y…you don't?" asked Remus.

"Not at all." Peter pulled out a small leather book entitled: Consent or Cursed? and slipped it back again. Where was it? "I used to be really into vampires two years ago," he said absently, standing on tiptoe to get a better view of the higher shelves. "Was all I could talk about. Drove my parents absolutely batty. Then Dad had enough and took me to St. Mungo's- he's a janitor there, you know. Anyway, there was this poor bloke there who had just gotten bitten by a vampire. It was pretty horrible." Hmm. Werewolves of Wales. Nope. Still not it. Maybe Mr. Singh had sold it.

"But you don't really like vampires, do you," said Remus softly.

"Well I'm not very likely to go up and shake their hands, am I?" Finally Peter spotted it, just above his head to the left. With a grunt he pulled it off the shelf and absently stroked the dragon hide cover with a finger. The title was etched into the scaly green surface. Those Who Hunt the Hunters.

"Have you ever heard of Brutal Brian?" asked Peter, turning to face Remus again and carefully opening the book.

"No."

"Well, he was the most celebrated wizard in his circle. They used to call him Wolf's Bain." Peter grinned as he came to his favorite section in the book and started to flip to the absolute best page. "Old Brian could kill a werewolf as easily as flick his wand. During his time, he killed over three hundred werewolves, and not just in Britain either, but all around the world. Then one day he just vanished into thin air and no one ever saw him again."

Ah, there. His favorite scene. It was a full two page illustration. Brutal Brian stood facing the werewolf, hunter silhouetted against the full moon, his dark cloak blowing in the wind. The monster approached, snarling. Peter turned the book around so Remus could see, intently watching the other boy's face. It was gross, yes, but absolutely brilliant. The growling intensified and Remus' cheeks lost what color they had left. There were several sharp clicks as the magical crossbow fired itself and a sharp, inhuman cry split the air so loudly that Peter jumped. Remus started like he'd been struck, his head jerking to the side and his hands clenching into tight, white-knuckled fists.

"I say, are you all right?" Peter asked. From the book came a series of low pitched whines as the injured werewolf tried to get away and the thud of boots on hard earth as Brutal Brian moved in for the spectacular kill.

"Stop it," said Remus in a voice that was almost like a growl itself. Peter tried to fumble the book shut but it slipped from his fingers and clattered to the ground, landing open at another of Brutal Brian's exploits. A werewolf howled loud and lonely into the night. Remus reached over and snapped the book shut, glaring at it with a strange sort of light in his eyes. Chocolate Biscuit started to tremble against his neck. Peter took an unconscious step backwards, bumping into the shelf. Remus glanced up at him, his face was calm but there was something in his eyes that pinned Peter to the spot.

"Are you scared of me?" again, the boy's voice was soft, but it was a dangerous sort of quiet. Peter was struck with the sudden urge to run and hide. But any sudden moves and he was sure this strange boy would be after him.

"N…no," squeaked Peter, slowly inching away. Remus stood bolted to his feet, his expression suddenly livid.

"What! What's wrong with me? Just because I'm different doesn't mean I'm not human!" the boy snarled.

"I…I know," Peter stammered, absently reaching up and putting a protective hand over Chocolate Biscuit. What in the world was he going on about? Human or not, the boy was defiantly loopy. Peter wasn't sure if he liked him very much. Suddenly Remus slapped his hands over his face, curling his fingers in so hard Peter could see little spots of blood well underneath his nails.

"I'm sorry," said the boy in a hoarse voice that was further muffled by his hands. "It's getting late and it's getting harder to- to think straight." Remus pulled his hands away, abruptly seeming much older then eleven. "Please don't be scared of me… I won't hurt you. Please…"

"I'm not," said Peter, more out of fear of the boy blowing up at him again then any real truth. Remus was mad. Completely and utterly mad. He would much prefer to be with Johnny. Sure, Johnny was mean and hurtful, but at least one knew where one stood with him. Remus looked up sharply and Peter braced himself for another bout of madness. Nothing came, though. Instead, the boy remained fixated on the dark alley between the shelves. Peter stared along with him, straining his eyes to see. Mr. Singh melted from the shadows like a ghost, his twisted cane (shaped like a twining cobra) tapping heavily against the floor.

"Good evening, Mr. Pettigrew," the old man said, his leathery face breaking into a small smile. "And you too, Mr. – ah - Lupin, was it?"

"Yes, sir," said Remus.

"Ah. Well you two better scurry on home. You'll show him the way, of course, Mr. Pettigrew."

"A…all right," said Peter, more then a little wary at roaming through the dark alleys alone with someone like Remus Lupin.

"Then it's all settled. Now, you two run along. Wouldn't want to get caught in the dark, now would we?"

"What did he mean by that?" Remus murmured as they began the dark journey back to the front of the shop. "H…how late is it?" He sounded frightened. Maybe he was afraid of the dark. If that was so, though, what was he doing in this place?

"I don't expect it's that late. It's probably twilight or thereabouts." Everything in Diagon Alley closed up around twilight. Except, of course, The Leaky Cauldron. They soon reached the entrance and by the gray light that managed to seep in through the mucky windows, Peter could tell he had guessed the time right. Peter sighed as he stood out in the open air. It felt nice to be outside after having been in that stuffy old store.

"I...I have to find my dad." Remus seemed positively terrified. Peter looked around. The streets were almost completely deserted.

"I'm sure your dad is probably in the Leaky Cauldron." Then, in an effort to put the boy at ease said: "It's not too bad 'round here at night. It's a full moon tonight and it'll be rising any minute now. We should have plenty-"

"Where's the Leaky Cauldron?" Remus interrupted, seeming even more frightened then he had been before and now angry as well.

"Th…that way," Peter stammered, pointing to the end of the street.

"You have to get my dad. He's tall and thin and he has a mustache. Now go. Run as fast as you can."

"Look, why can't you-"

"GO!" Remus snapped, shoving him so hard he nearly fell over. Peter scrambled upright and ran for it, pounding blindly down the street. He wanted to go home but Quality Quidditch Supplies was in another direction and he didn't want to pass Remus again. Oh, why did he even go out today? He should have just stayed in his room.

After what seemed like forever, he finally stumbled through the door of the old pub, lungs near bursting. Some of the patrons gave him strange looks as he entered. Most of them, however, didn't even look up from their drinks. That was perhaps a good thing. Strange people came to the Leaky Cauldron after dark, Dad always said. All he had to do was find a tall thin man with a mustache, and then he could go home.

It was harder then he thought. There were several fat mustached men sharing a drink and roaring in German. A thin mustached man sat shivering up at a table by the fire, but had to sit on five books just to be level with the table. Peter nearly ran into a tall, thin, mustached woman with a full beard to match. She gave him a jolly look as he inched past her and even offered him a pepper imp she'd fished from somewhere in her beard. Peter politely declined and scuttled past her.

On the other side of the woman was a shadowy wall lit sparsely by old rusty lanterns. At a table in the corner there was someone that fit Remus' description almost exactly. Although it was hard to tell the man's exact height as he was slouched over a large black mug and staring forlornly into its depths. It almost seemed as if he was asleep.

Plucking up his courage, which was by now hanging from the thinnest of string, Peter started over toward him. If this wasn't the man then…then he'd just sneak off home. He knew the alley almost as well as he knew his own bedroom. He was a little nervous about using those secret routes at night but… Suddenly a hand clapped on his head. He jumped and there was a startled squeak near his ear as CB was nearly dislodged. Peter was too scared even to comfort his little pet. It seemed as if every part of him had frozen except for his legs which were beginning to turn wobbly.

"I wouldn't, lad," said the owner of the hand. "He doesn't look like the kind who wants to be bothered." The voice above him was friendly enough and, turning slightly to look better behind him; Peter saw the man's kind brown eyes matched the tone in his voice. Even better, pinned to the man's black robes was a shiny badge that read MLE. Magical Law Enforcement. The man turned Peter to face him, placing both hand's on Peter's shoulders.

"Isn't it a little late for you to be out?" the man asked. Peter bristled a little. It wasn't that late. Before he could speak up to his defense, a blood chilling scream rolled in from outside, making the hair on Peter's arm stand on end. As the scream went on it began top twist and stretch until it was almost a howl. Almost as soon as it had started, the noise drifted into the night. It was then; Peter noticed how quiet the room had gotten. He shivered, the stillness being somehow more frightening. Licking his dry lips, he tried to think of something to say.

"Sounds a bit like a werewolf, doesn't it?" he managed to squeak. All it once, it seemed, everyone turned toward him and Peter flushed a little at the attention. The room burst into life, as loud as it had been quiet before.

"It does…" said the bearded witch. It was as if someone had thrown a rock at a bee's nest. The room burst to life, as loud as it had been quiet before. People jumped from their chairs like their robes were on fire.

"—best if we kill it!"

"Getting out of here! Move--!"

"Fresh werewolf claws are the best!"

A swarthy wizard, hurrying to the fireplace, barreled past Peter, nearly knocking him to the floor. The MLE steadied him with one hand.

"All right there, lad?"

All Peter could do was nod. Satisfied, the MLE shoved Peter behind his back and looked over the room.

"Everyone calm down!" shouted the MLE. Then louder. "I SAID, CALM DOWN!" No one seemed to hear him. Peering around the man's lanky frame, Peter saw a middle aged witch begin to open the front door. In an instant, an oak wand appeared in the MLE's hands and with a hard wave. The door ripped out of the witch's hand and slammed shut. The room grew quiet again as everyone turned to stare at him in shock. Peter blinked up at the man, a little surprised himself.

"Everyone need's to keep their heads. We don't know for sure what is outside, until I can be certain it's not a threat, no one is leaving out that door-"

"Look you-!" said a deep voiced wizard from somewhere in the crowd.

"By order of the Ministry of Magic," the MLE finished. That shut the wizard up. Within seconds the MLE had organized two floo queues and sent those who were staying at the inn up to their rooms. The remaining patrons he situated at tables far from the door. Then the man left Peter's side, striding across the room to have a low-pitched conversation with Tom the innkeeper. Though they were talking softly, Peter was fairly certain he heard the word 'Auror' mentioned.

Peter stayed where he was, unsure of whether to move or not. Even though he was fairly certain werewolves couldn't open doors. He was still a little nervous. Shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, he glanced around, wondering if anyone had noticed him. No one had. It was as if he'd suddenly become invisible. Peter's gaze came to rest on the mustached man he'd tried to approach earlier. He'd collapsed on the table now, arms stretched in front of him, breathing deeply. He must have been asleep then. How anyone could have slept through the last few minutes, Peter had no idea.

Looking at the man reminded Peter of Lupin. He hoped the boy had had good enough sense to duck back into the shop once the howling had started. Though the boy had been a little loopy, so perhaps not. Peter had wasn't about to find Lupin's father now that everything happened. He just wanted to go home. But…maybe he could tell the MLE about him. No sooner then Peter had started toward the man, then MLE nodded to Tom and strode out the door, edges of his robes flapping.

Peter paused, once more unsure of what to do. Then with a shakey sigh, he pulled Chocolate Biscuit off his shoulder and cupped the small rodent in his hands.

"Should we go home?" Peter asked. CB wiggled his nose and glanced toward the door. Seeming to agree with him.

"Sounds good to me too," said Peter, tucking the mouse up in his hand. Lupin probably had gone back inside the shop. He wasn't as mad as all that. So there was no reason for Peter to feel guilty about leaving him. Besides, Peter had had quite a full day all ready and he was getting hungry. Dinner must be on about now and Mum said she would be making stuffed peahen tonight.

Pushing the twinge of guilt away, Peter got in the shortest queue for the fireplace. A kind witch let him in front of her and soon he had a pinch of glittering powder which he threw into the flames. Tucking the mouse even closer to his body, he stepped into the roaring green fire, calling out Quality Quidditch Supplies as he did so.

The ride was short and bumpy and Peter made extra sure that he got out of the grate in his room. If he tried to cross the living room with CB in his hand, Mum would be sure to know. He landed with a thump on some pillows in front of his fireplace, the wind of his entrance scattering a few drawing papers. Peter brushed off the ash as best he could while he went over to his bed and drew back the covers. After an anxious glance at the door, he gently placed CB on the pillow next to his teddy bear.
"Now you stay put, all right?" he whispered.

"Jaams," the mouse said, mournfully. Peter blinked. He hadn't known it could talk too! A doubly magical mouse then. Although he wasn't sure what jams meant, he assumed the mouse was hungry.

"I'll bring you something after dinner," he promised, pulling the covers over the mouse's small form. Then he went out through the narrow hall and into the main room. Mother was sitting in the old rocking chair, keeping a close eye on the peahen as it slowly sizzled and turned in the fireplace.

"Wash up, dear," she said absently. "You should have walked home instead of taking the floo."

"I would have. But I think I think I heard a werewolf outside and--"

"Probably just the wind," she said, giving the peahen a little poke with her wand. "Hurry, now. Your father's just arrived."

Peter sighed a little and went to the washroom. Dad was in there, scrubbing the soot off his bony hands.

"Hello, Pete," Dad said with a wink as Peter dipped his hands into the basin of warm water. "Nice day?"
"Pretty much…except for the werewolf."

"New story, old man?" Dad said, giving Peter a slight nudge with his elbow. "And what happens in this one? Do you save the day or get the girl or both?"

"There really is one!" said Peter earnestly.

"Wonderful, wonderful. Speaking of werewolves, did you know one was admitted to Mungo's today? Mad as a hatter she was. Kept screaming about continuing her race. Can you imagine? A werewolf as a race. More like a freak of nature if you ask me. As I was telling your Mum just this morning, Glenda, I says, what we need is to crack down on all these sub-humans flitting about. 'Course old Scubb disagrees. You remember him right, old man? Oldish chap? Keeps baby rabbits in his beard? Anyway, Scubb tells me…"

Peter continued washing his face, tuning his father out. He'd heard the entire story this morning when Dad told Mum. All except the werewolf part. Knowing Dad, he'd be talking about it all evening and probably in the morning too. Of course, if Dad ever found out about CB, he'd really be talking.

Hopefully CB was smart enough to stay hidden. As long as Peter kept his room clean, Mum wouldn't have to come in there and then she'd never know. Then he could sneak him out to Hogwarts and have his own confidant who never interrupted and believed every word he said. It was too bad he couldn't find someone human to do the same thing…