A/N: Okay, so this took way longer than I expected. With school and Mardi Gras and whatnot, I have had zero time to write. I was hoping to post it sooner, but no such luck. I had a paper to write due yesterday. But today was devoted to you, my readers. And there's more good news. I already have chapter 6 almost done. YAY! So it will be up soon. Promise. Anyway, thanks for your patience, and, as usual, please review.
CH. 5:
After 35 straight minutes of scrubbing "something" out of James's hair, his mother officially deemed that he was, in fact, ready to join the polite society of the dinner table. During this time, Ezra, the house elf, had set the plates and silverware, prepared the meal, and even lit the table with two long white candles on either side of the centerpiece.
"Everything looks lovely," Evelyn said, looking around as though she had never entered her dining room. "Simply wonderful, Ezra."
"Ezra is happy her mistress is happy," Ezra squeaked with a wide smile.
"Oh and I am very happy with this."
James paced around the dinner table, examining the china and silver utensils. "Why haven't I seen these before?" he asked, picking up a fork and examining it closely. "Mum? Mu-u-um!" he exclaimed, banging the fork on the table.
"Yes, James?" she said quickly, turning away from Ezra who instantly vanished with a 'pop!'
"Why haven't I seen these?" he said, holding the fork in front of him. She sighed and put the fork back on the table.
"Because, darling, this is the fancy dinner china. There's no need to eat from it every night."
"Why not?" James said. His mother was shook her head silently as she went into the kitchen. "What's the point of having it if we aren't going to eat with it? And what makes it so—"
"So I said, 'Now, see, Minister? That's why I told you not to lick the pumpkin!'" James father's voice floated into the dining room, followed by the sound of laughter. James rolled his eyes as his father entered, followed by a portly man with a wispy grey hair and a bowler and a squat woman, presumably his wife, with mousy brown hair. "Ah, well. Evelyn must be in the kitchen." James looked around, alarmed once he realized he was alone. "I'm sure she'll be out in a moment. This is my son, James. James, this is Mr. and Mrs. Pettigrew." The couple nodded to him in unison. James drew back towards the doorframe, in spite of himself, and looked up at his father, who regarded him sternly and said, "Now, son, don't be rude. Go on and say hello."
"Hello," James said, remaining in his fixed position against the doorframe. His father laughed and shook his head.
"What's gotten into you, boy?" James called him over with his finger. His father rolled his eyes but oblidged. "What is it?"
"They creep me out," James whispered.
Harold laughed. "Nonsense," he said. He grabbed James's hand and pulled him towards the pair at the door. "Now, give them a proper hello."
"Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Pettigrew," he said vacantly. "I'm told you live next door. It's lovely to meet you. Ta now." He slowly backed towards the archway until he connected with something solid. He spun around to see a short, thick-set boy with blonde hair and small, watery eyes. "Who are you?" James said, stepping back quickly.
"Well," squeaked Mrs. Pettigrew, smiling down at James. "That's Pettigrew number 3."
"They're just popping up everywhere now," James said, staring at his father. "Soon, they're going to be oozing out of the walls. You could've said something, you know," he added to the boy. "A little forewarning would've been nice. Might've prevented...collision."
"Sorry," he said in a quiet, squeaky voice, quite similar to his mother's, "I'm a little shy."
"So you hide behind me?" James said incredulously. The boy sighed and stared down at his feet. His face and ears were red as a cherry beneath his thin hair. James looked up at his father who gave him a little 'go on' motion, and then he looked back at the boy. The poor thing was pitiful. He looked like he'd never seen another person his size before. James sighed and extended his hand. "I'm James."
The boy looked up at James's hand as though it were the best gift he'd ever received. He quickly wiped his own hand off on the front of his robe and shook James's eagerly. "I'm Peter. Peter Pettigrew." He laughed nervously and shuffled his feet as he pulled his hand back. "But you know that already. The Pettigrew part. Not the Peter part. At least I don't think you—"
James held out his hand to silence him. Peter looked flustered. "Did I…did I mess up?" he asked miserably. "I messed up already, didn't I? Oh, I always, always do this. I talk too much and I—" James held out his hand again. Peter looked around silently, his face blanched and sweaty.
"Peter, do you like Quidditch?" James asked. Peter nodded but didn't make a sound. "Would you like to see my collection of Quidditch cards?" Peter nodded again, fervently. "Come on, then." James led Peter through the archway and up the stairs to his room.
Mr. and Mrs. Pettigrew exchanged ecstatic looks and then gave Harold Potter a united smile. "Thank you so much for introducing him to our son," Mr. Pettigrew said. His wife nodded.
"This is the first time someone has actually given him a chance," she said in a low voice.
Harold shrugged. "I really didn't do anything but bring you over. The rest was entirely up to James and Peter." Mrs. Pettigrew gave an elated squeak, and the three sat down at the table.
