disclaimer: i didn't write harry potter & am certainly not making any money off of this.

disclaimer (part ii): while they're my favorite artists, i am, sadly, not a member of the beatles either.

Chapter 3: Peter

Peter Pettigrew lived on the sidelines. If the rest of the world was out on the playing field, Peter was like that one member of the team that worked the hardest for everyone on the team but was never repaid for any of it. He had to just smile while his teammates were cheered on, while Peter was being pushed further and further back. Or, in this setting, he had to smile as his mother and father hugged Greta, hugged her like she was going off to South Africa and never coming home. Greta didn't even like being hugged! Peter loved being hugged, but couldn't think of one time when the person giving it to him was hugging him like his parents hugging Greta.

When his mother hugged him it was like smiling in the mirror just to say "I smiled today". She was hugging her son just to tell Marlene and Josie and Diane "I gave my darling son a big hug on his way on the train, oh we did cry hearty tears, we did!" Picturing this scene inevitably on Diane's front porch filled Peter with a sickly feeling, and, after getting a nod from his dad, hurried to the train, looking down like he had done something stupid.

He made his way to the very back of the train, looking for an empty compartment, to no such luck. Every one had someone in it, usually with friends and usually older. So Peter turned to the only one that made sense. There was a boy in it, just one, who had to be a first year. He was slight and pale, with fluffy curly hair hanging over his face. And he was reading a book no less. He was perfect.

"Hullo," said Peter, opening the door, "mind if I sit here?" The boy shook his head "no" without looking up. "Alright then," said Peter uncomfortably, and he loaded his trunk up into the overhead section. He noticed that the boy's trunk was on the floor next to him, ratty and beat-up looking. The boy looked at Peter, daring him to say something. That's when Peter noticed the scar. It was horrible, ripping through his face like a lighting bolt, from one end to the next. It crossed from his forehead, over the bridge of his nose, to his jawline, and Peter's heart skipped a beat. Peter could only imagine how shocked he looked right then, and was seriously considering the idea of moving into the compartment of fifth years next door-that seemed better than a boy with a 1,000 year old trunk and far too many scars.

"I was in an accident," said the boy quietly, "that's where the scar's from." Peter nodded, trying desperately hard to appear unfazed.

He cleared his throat. "I'm Peter," he said, "Peter Pettigrew."

"Remus Lupin."

"Alright," said Peter, nodding. At least they were making conversation. He reached into his rucksack and grabbed a magazine, Frock n' Foul, Your Weekly Guide to Wizarding Music from it.

"You like rock n' roll?" asked Remus.

Peter nodded. "It ought to be one of the best things ever made."

"What kind of rock do you like?"

"I like pop rock, myself," said Peter happily, "though I'm not opposed to the folky stuff, boring as it is." No one ever asked what type of rock he liked - everyone assumed there was just one. How did this odd boy know there were different kinds? He didn't exactly seem like the rock type.

"Me too," he said, "I don't know too many wizarding rock groups though, because I was surrounded all my life with the muggle stuff."

"Damn," said Peter, "must've been awful."

"Not really," said Remus, shrugging, "there's some fantastic muggle groups out there."

"I don't believe you," said Peter, smiling.

"Fine then," said Remus, smiling back, "let me prove myself."

He dug into his overstuffed trunk and came out with a record. It's sleeve reminded Peter very much of the recent album by the Hey Finders, a very popular wizarding band at the time. It was rather odd, odder than he would have expected off a muggle band. There were four blokes on the front, all dressed in bright colors. There was a crowd of people behind them that looked like cardboard cutouts. In the front spelled in spectacularly colored flowers said THE BEATLES.

"What the hell," said Peter, dumbstruck, "you're telling me muggles would be batty enough to make something like this?"

Remus nodded proudly. "Yes, sir." He tapped his wand to the record and let it glide out of his hand, spinning. "Though, my father insists that he knew a wizard named Ringo Starr. Convinced it's the same bloke. He just doesn't understand muggles and their infatuation with stage names."

"Merlin!" said Peter, "how the hell do you know how to do that?"

"I've got quite an astounding amount of freetime," said Remus, watching carefully as the record drifted to the center of the compartment. All of the sudden, music started coming out. Floating out like ocean mist. It was quiet starting out, faded. Then, as the sound grew, Peter felt a familiar feeling. The feeling of hearing a new song that was going to be something good. It was like being shown a new machine, and you can see already how great it's going to be, now it's whirring to a start.

As the music filled the small compartment, Peter all of the sudden was filled with a smashing realization that only beautiful music bring. And instead of asking why he was being a loser and crying on the first day of school, Remus just walked across to Peter's side and sat next to him.

"Good, right," said Remus quietly.

Peter quickly wiped away the tears. "Right. It's really good. Really really good. Brilliant, y'know. I…"

"I've got all their other records in my trunk," said Remus, "but this is their best one. Critically, I suppose. I personally like Help! best, but I'm not a critic." He looked at Peter, and Peter noticed his eyes were far too blue to be normal. But were any of them really normal? They were wizards after all. "What I'm getting at is, you've got to listen to it as a whole. It's a concept, you see. All of it connects. I started you off in the middle because this song, it's called 'She's Leaving Home' I think is sort of relevant to today. Sorry- I'll stop talking now."

"No, that's okay," said Peter, laughing, "I'm happy rock was brought up, because I was sort of worried you wouldn't talk at all!" He stopped laughing, nervous all of the sudden. What if his new, dare he say friend, was offended?

But Remus just chuckled. "I give off that impression," he said, "I lived in a… small town. There weren't many people there, and I suppose I'm a shy-ish sort, but I open up, I promise. Then you can't get me to shut up. Case in point, right now."

"How do you know so much… stuff," said Peter, curiously, "like, how do you know what the critics like of the Beagles and what you like?"

"It's the Beatles," laughed Remus, "it's on the bloody cover of the thing!" His smile then faltered and he looked towards the floor. "And, because of that… accident I mentioned earlier, sometimes there's… complications. And because of those complications, I get a lot of time where I think. I do a lot of thinking. My Mum says too much."

"I'm sorry that happened to you."

"Oh it's okay," said Remus, trying to cover the fact that he did not think it was okay. "I'm alright for the most part."

"Do your parents like you?" asked Peter, looking down. "Sorry- that's a stupid question. I was just-"

"No one in the entire world has ever asked a stupid question. Stupid question is an oxymoron."

"I've asked some bloody stupid questions in my day. Also, I don't know what an oxymoron is."

"Ha-ha. And, I don't know, I think they like me. Actually, I know so. They tell me a lot. I bet I make them sa- annoyed sometimes though, because I'm a... bloody eleven year old. We're all annoying."

"Right." Peter looked at Remus and quickly tried to change the topic to something less pathetic. "I can't believe we're going to Hogwarts. For real."

"I can't believe I actually talked to someone," said Remus smiling wildly. Then all of the sudden, his face darkened. "Oh my God," his eyes widened, "I can't believe I talked that much. I'm sorry, I-I wasn't thinking. I, oh my God."

"Remus what are you talking abo-"

"I… I'm sorry. I'm just not used to… nothing. I'm…nevermind." Remus ran his scarred, freckled fingers through his hair. "Sorry Peter, I'll be right back." And, just like that, Remus ran out of the compartment. Leaving Peter all alone. All alone with things swimming around him. Questions that were apparently not stupid, because as the mysterious boy told him, "No one in the entire world has ever asked a stupid question." And out of all the things this boy would say to him throughout his life, this would stick. All his life, Peter had thought that everything he said people thought sounded idiotic, like he was slow, when he was only making a joke. But now this boy that barely knew him was saying that Peter wasn't slow. That his questions were valid. So Peter thought of questions to ask the world because he wanted to know more, like his new friend, Remus.

a/n: thanks for reading! & yes, sirius' p.o.v. will be next, and it's a chapter i'm particularly proud of! stay tuned :) -cay