WRITTEN FOR THE HOUSES COMPETITION, YEAR 10, ROUND 1

House: Slytherin

Class: DADA

Category: Drabble

Word Count: 997

Prompt: [Event] Masked Ball

Warnings/Disclaimers: none

Thanks to my fellow Slytherins for the beta!

As it usually happens, I say I don't want to write something (Peter, I didn't think I would ever write Peter), then I do it.

Enjoy

Peter didn't want to be here.

He'd been excited when James and Sirius had apparated to his tiny flat, bright-eyed and clearly up to no good. He stood taller and he couldn't stop grinning when he realised that they were keeping their latest scheme a secret from both Lily and Remus but were including him. It looked like the start of one of his very best Hogwarts memories, and Peter needed something to cheer him up after a few disappointing months.

Still, this wasn't what he'd had in mind. There were too many ways it could go wrong—it wasn't like enchanting the Slytherin table so that students sitting down for breakfast would be covered in mucus, or making the suits of armour sing dirty limericks every time a Slytherin passed by. The thought of McGonagall catching them in flagrante had haunted Peter's nightmares during his Hogwarts years. Today, he would give his right hand for his former Head of House to be his biggest problem.

Peter almost jumped out of his skin when someone jostled him on their way to the buffet, turning towards one of the floating trays to try and disguise his flinch. He grabbed a flute and brought it to his lips quickly to hide the trembling of his hand, eyes down to avoid the dazzling displays of wealth.

Pureblood balls and soirées had seemed like such mysterious things when he'd been a boy. Exclusive events Peter heard about but couldn't begin to imagine, attended solely by members of high society—the oldest and richest families of Magical Britain, renowned members of the Wizengamot, and the sort of Ministry worker whose choices shaped the country. He might have dreamed about mingling with such a crowd, but in his wildest fantasies he'd been one of them, not an interloper liable to be cursed upon discovery. Peter gulped at the thought, then swallowed more expensive champagne and tried to take comfort in the enchanted mask he wore. Sirius had gotten it for him. It covered most of his face as well as the top and sides of his head, and its ice-crystal motif shone under the glimmering lights of the Lestranges' ballroom. The mask was the only reason he'd been allowed to set foot in Lestrange Castle in the first place. It didn't matter that Sirius was a Black—he could never have smuggled them into Dark Society's Mabon festivities if the Lestranges hadn't opted to host a masked ball to usher in the last quarter of the year.

Peter didn't even know how James had learnt of the theme of the event, as the balls hosted and attended by Dark pureblood families weren't covered in the Prophet's society pages until after the fact. Still, he wasn't surprised that he'd come up with a plan to take advantage of it.

Everyone thought James had matured so much when his parents died, when he'd been appointed Head Boy and started dating Lily, but they weren't his friends like Peter. James's priorities had shifted, but he was still the same person, and he wasn't meant to sit idle while other people led. That was how they ended up sneaking into Lestrange Castle to spy on people that were sure to support the Dark Lord—with no backup and none the wiser.

"Lily-flower can't know, Wormtail. She'd be worried, and she'd try to involve the rest of the Order, but Sirius can't smuggle in just anyone, you know?" James had said with a wink and a nudge. And Peter did know. Once a Marauder, always a Marauder. So Peter asked about Remus, and Sirius grimaced.

"I liberated some stuff from my parents' place when I left. Those stuck-up pricks won't even know we're not supposed to be there, but the enchantments are… fiddly, and with Moony's furry little problem—Well." He'd shrugged, and Peter swallowed his nerves and followed his friends into enemy camp.

He sipped the champagne and reached towards the buffet to stuff another canapé in his mouth, only to choke on it when the most powerful magic he'd ever felt in his life rolled into the room. He didn't know how everyone else kept acting like nothing changed; to Peter, it felt like a storm had crashed against the doors, throwing them open to start raging inside. It was as subtle an entrance as rolling out a red carpet and playing the trumpets, and Peter unerringly followed the feeling of the oppressive magic to its source. People moved deferentially out of the way of a tall man, with dark hair and red eyes shining through a snake-like mask. Peter thought he saw the host walking a step behind him. When the man neared, Peter's legs trembled.

"First time?"

Peter started terribly, spilling the last of his champagne all over his borrowed robes. The stranger that had spoken to him coughed.

"It can have that effect on magically-sensitive people. The sheer power…" he trailed off, and Peter risked a glance as he patted his robes dry. Even through his bird-like mask, the stranger looked riveted, as if enjoying bathing in the magic that Peter would liken to a treacherous torrent.

He mumbled something that could have been mistaken for an agreement, left his flute, and scurried towards where he thought he'd last seen his friends. He let out a relieved sigh when he recognised their disguises in the crowd. He was a few metres away, walking around a small group of people, when the listening charm embedded in his mask focused on them.

"Shit, Bella's here."

"We knew she would be. It's her fiancé's castle," James pointed out. Sirius didn't seem reassured.

"Prongs, she's walking right towards us and she knows about these masks."

"You're saying—"

"We have thirty seconds to disappear."

Peter quickened his step. He'd set out to look for them at the perfect time—they would meet up and leave right away, which was exactly what Peter—!

They weren't there anymore. He couldn't see them.

They had left him.