(See the end of the work for notes.)
Peter Pettigrew once had a pet rat named squeakers. Because the rat just couldn't stop squeaking, but Peter loved him all the same.
Peter always thought rats were misunderstood creatures, hated by muggles and wizards alike. Not that Peter had met many wizards. He had no living relatives on his mother's side. And his father had died back when he was a young baby.
Peter knew he was supposed to be sad about his father's death, but he didn't because he never knew the man. Sure, he did miss the feeling of having a dad, missed having someone who would teach him his first steps, someone who would be there to fill the empty spaces when his mum went for awfully long hours.
Florence Pettigrew, had a small bakery in Diagon Alley selling cakes and cookies. The bakery provided a source of comfort for his mother and him. Because when she was not fake smiling at her customers, she was crying.
And when he saw his mother cry at nights, sniffling silently so she wouldn't wake Peter up, he felt guilty. Because he had never cried like that. Never cried for his muggle father. He felt guilty because his mum would show him pictures of his dad, and his words were never genuine, his smile was a farce.
But other than that, Peter was a good kid. He helped his mum around the house, he would cook for himself when he was alone and he had his plants for company. At nine years old, Peter grew up faster than most boys would.
…….
"And does anyone know what fractions are" Ms. Smith's soft voice asked. She was a small lady barely taller than the tallest boy of his class, and she always had a smile on her face.
Peter always wanted to be like her, someone who was small but listened to and respected. Somewhere in the distance he heard a boy answering but Peter couldn't focus, he tried to but maths wasn't a subject he particularly liked.
His thoughts wandered to magic. He wasn't a squib, sure he hadn't shown that many bursts of accidental magic but he could do magic, if you counted the light flickering slightly when he glared at them for a long time
And by the virtue of his magic he didn't belong in this world. He was supposed to be in a different world. A world filled with chocolate frogs, broomsticks, herbology and magic.
Peter couldn't wait to meet new people and make friends, that is if anyone would be desperate enough to become friends with him of all people..
Well, he would find out soon enough.
Only one year until his letter would come, he was sure it would come.
……………..
His letter came, on a warm summer morning, tucked in with his mother's other mail.
"Your letter, Pete" she said with a small smile, but there was an edge to it.
He looked at the letter, To Mr. Peter Pettigrew, he couldn't believe it. He was finally going to Hogwarts.
He looked up at his mom, and saw his mum's eyes, which were a lovely shade of brown, were now red rimmed and puffy.
He knew why, his mum was crying.
She was torn between wishing him the best and being heartbroken that he was leaving and she would be left all alone. Peter had always been a momma's boy so he could understand her disheartened state.
"Mum, Please don't be sad" Peter said, carefully. But his mum didn't say anything and quietly hugged him. Muttering and mumbling words he couldn't understand. He wanted to tell her, it was alright. He wanted to comfort her, but he had never been good at comforting people. Instead he simply hugged her back and promised he'd write to her every day, just like she had asked.
……
Diagon alley was refreshing, he had been there countless times. But this time the air felt different. Peter who had never once paid attention to the beauty of his surroundings now analysed each and every knook of the street.
Traitor
Peter looked up startled, who had whispered that word. But the young boy found no one around except for his mum. Maybe he was hallucinating, he reasoned.
Ignoring the voice, Peter tugged at his mother's sleeve.
"Mum, can I just get one scoop please. It's been ages since I had one" Peter's mouth watered at the thought of Florean Fortescue's. There ice cream was the best he ever had. He looked at his mother hopefully.
His mother laughed, "All right, but just one scoop"
Peter excitedly nodded running off to the shop, the wind whipping against him and Peter let himself get lost in the wild array of colors around him. And just when he was about to reach the ice cream parlour, he felt himself crash into someone, stumbling back.
" S-sorry, I wasnt looking" he stammered, looking up to see a boy around his age, his face shadowed with a look of cool indifference.
The boy's mother—a tall, elegant woman dressed in dark green robes—raised a brow, casting a quick, disapproving glance at Peter. And, even though the boy barely flinched, Peter felt the heat of his stare.
The boy's gaze flicked down at him, cold and assessing, and for a second, Peter caught something—was it curiosity?Amusement? But then it was gone, replaced by a mask of haughty disdain.
He looked at Peter like he was examining an insect crawling across his robes.
"Clearly" the boy drawled, his voice measured and polite, though with an unmistakable undercurrent of impatience. The boy barely moved his mouth as he spoke, like he didn't want to waste the energy to speak to him.
"Regulus, come along dear. We have no time to waste on," she looked at peter with disdain, "...filth like him."
Peter gaped at the women, stunned into silence.
"...Yes, Mother" the boy—Regulus—replied, his tone obedient but distant, as if he were merely following a script. He gave Peter one last unreadable look, something flickering in his light gray eyes, and then turned, his shoulders straight, the picture of pureblood grace.
Peter watched them go, feeling small and slightly embarrassed. For a moment, he wondered what it'd be like to have a mum like that—one who spoke in crisp, controlled words, whose every movement seemed like it had been rehearsed. But then he felt his mum's hand on his shoulder, warm and comforting, and he instantly relaxed.
The rest of the day passed uneventfully and the time finally arrived where he would get his wand. Ollivanders was a tall, intimidating shop. Peter instantly felt nauseated.
"Hurry up, Pete" her mum said looking at Peter rooted to a spot on the ground, refusing to move.
"Peter," his mother said cautiously, "it doesn't matter what wand you get. It's not the wand that describes the wizard, but the wizard that brings glory to his wand."
When Peter made no attempt to move, his mother sighed loudly and closed the distance between them, gently cupping his face. "Darling, what's wrong?" She asked.
Peter wanted to say that he felt a foreboding sense of destruction coming from this place, that he felt something bad was about to happen. But he couldn't say that, so he instead decided to reveal one of his lesser worries "It's j-just what if no wand chooses me, what if I am not worthy enough" he mumbled.
"Oh Peter!," Her mother said with a hint of a smile, "Don't ruin this day for yourself, the wand will choose you because of who you are, not what you think you should be."
Peter nodded, feeling slightly calm as he slowly entered the shop.
The shop was dim, narrow and stuffed with wands. It felt suffocating to be surrounded by so much magic.
A whispery voice spoke from the shadows, making Peter jump. "Ah, a new wizard in search of his wand, I see."
An elderly man with pale eyes and an intense gaze stepped forward, appraising Peter with what felt like a piercing look. "Welcome, Mr. Pettigrew."
Peter gulped, feeling even smaller under Ollivander's scrutiny. He shot a nervous glance at his mum, who gave him an encouraging nod.
Ollivander studied him for a moment longer, then reached up to a high shelf and pulled down a wand. "Let's start with something sturdy… eleven inches, willow, with a dragon heartstring core."
Peter took the wand, heart pounding. But as soon as he waved it, a nearby stack of boxes exploded, and he dropped it in alarm.
"Not to worry," Ollivander murmured, as if this was exactly what he expected. "Perhaps… this one. Pine, nine and a half inches, unicorn hair?"
Another explosion.
Peter's shoulders drooped, and he looked down, wondering if he was doing something wrong. But his mother squeezed his hand, steadying him.
But Ollivander only seemed to get excited from his failure. "Curious. Very curious." He pulled down a different box, his fingers lingering on it. "Perhaps… this."
Peter took the wand, holding his breath. And suddenly dozens of memories filled his mind, he felt like he was flipping through a story book.
His train ride to Hogwarts. Meeting Remus and later James and Sirius. Getting sorted into Gryffindor. His first charms class, memories of grandiose pranks, bullying Snape, cheering with friends after casting his first spell, finding out about Remus's furry little problem, transforming for the first time, full moons spent with Remus, and days spent in common room, Lily's constant rejections, the fight, Snape's near death experience, James saving him, Remus getting his prefect badge, Sirius crying because of his brother, James becoming head boy and Lily coming around. Both of them dating.
And then the dark memories came, becoming the Potter's secret keeper, betraying his friends, avenging you know who and dying a pitiful death.
Peter collapsed from the weight of his discoveries. Fainting in his mother's arms while Ollivander glanced at him curiously. The shop thrummed, as if coming alive with each ragged breath Peter took.
…….
When he woke up, the first thing he saw was Ollivander's beady eyes. The second thing he saw was his mother's distraught expression.
"Ah! You are finally awake, Mr. Pettigrew" Ollivander said joyfully like the incidents of the past hour have not happened.
"Peter, I was so worried. Are you alright now?" his mother wailed.
"W-what happened." Peter asked, still reeling.
"Y-you fainted after tr-trying this wa-wand. Mr. Ollivander told me it has happens sometimes when the wizard is not able to handle the kinship formed with his wand" she stammered.
Ollivander looked at him curiously and handed him the wand that had turned his world upside down, one touch at a time.
Ignoring his mother's worried look, Peter tried standing up and held the wand. It felt as if the wood had came alive in his hand. The warmth grew stronger, settling like a gentle glow in his chest.
Ollivander smiled, nodding approvingly " Blackwood, nine and a half inches, with a thestral hair. Loyal, strong, and… resilient."
He looked between Peter and his mum, his eyes thoughtful. "I have no doubt this wand will serve you well, Mr. Pettigrew."
Peter looked vacantly at his mother, who looked concerned but smiled at him sweetly sensing his gaze.
"You did it Pete" she said softly, the words barely a whisper.
Peter knew didn't deserve that smile, not after finding out he was traitor, a rat, but he smiled back at her nonetheless.
So I ended up writing this chapter in a day, because I just adore young peter and like to think about the what ifs. Also I promise their will be humour on the story and it won't be this boring. I hope I did Peter's character justice but I am always looking to improve.
Upcoming chapters will be longer, this was just the filler chapter.