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fox_confessorTitle: These Four Kings (Year One 2/7)
Author: Dani (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
escribo
Word Count: 3975
Rating: PG
(Pairings: in the future will be remus/sirius, lily/james)
Timeline: September 1 (Wednesday) 1971
Summary: Hogwarts Express and the Sorting
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended. I've not made nor seek any profit. Some of the dialogue on the train belongs to J.K. Rowling.
one
Peter had tried to find an empty compartment on the train, but there had been none left, and in the end he'd eased into one occupied by three other boys and a girl, first years like himself, who didn't notice him at all when he sat nearest the door. The girl sat nearest the window, crying, and Peter was glad that he was able to hold back the urge to cry himself. He'd thought about it as soon as the train had jerked away, and he could still see his mother on the platform, looking tired and defeated but relieved, too, he thought with a tiny twist of his guts that had chased his tears away, and he hadn't wanted to consider that any harder.
That he'd received the letter at all was something of a miracle to Peter. He had known for years that he could make things happen without even trying, but had hid that ability, perversely enjoying the way his mother despaired with his aunt about the possibility he might be a squib. He had dreamed of the day when he would suddenly be able to make something big happen--magic them a pile of gold, or transfigure their cat into a lion that would kill his mother's husband so they could be free. Instead, the letter from Hogwarts had come, announcing his acceptance, and his mother had sat down heavily in her chair, staring between Peter and the letter while he slowly twisted his hands over and over as if washing them in an imaginary sink.
Thank Merlin you're not a squib, she had finally said, and Peter had wanted to laugh. He had, later, when his mother did, too, after his brother had arrived in their fireplace for dinner that night. I thought he was a squib, she had said again, and everyone at the table had laughed, his brother the loudest, as the bowls of mashed turnips and baked beans flew from the kitchen and slopped over onto the blue checked tablecloth as they landed.
Those words were in Peter's head still as he sat on the Hogwarts Express: Thank Merlin I'm not a squib. He'd always known he wasn't, and his acceptance letter was jammed into his back pocket now, in case anyone demanded proof of it, as his brother had suggested they might. He would be a wizard; he'd figure out how to magic that lot of gold for his mother, and they'd be able to move from above the Muggle pub where she worked as a waitress. Her husband had said there was no easier way to make gold than by separating it from drunken Muggles, but Peter figured there must be, since his family didn't seem to have a lot of it. Only just enough to get by and then some, as his mother had so often said.
"You'd better be in Slytherin."
"Slytherin?" It was the girl in the corner by the window who said it. Her tears seemed to have dried up as she spoke with the pale boy in front of her, her head tipped to the side as if she was trying to riddle something out. The rest of the compartment had gone quiet, too, the two black-haired boys next to Peter interested now as well.
"Who wants to be in Slytherin? I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?" The question came from the boy closest to Peter, his eyes round and big behind his glasses, as the other boy across from him sunk lower in his seat, repeatedly kicking the heel of his shoe against the bottom of the bench. This boy didn't smile back.
"My whole family has been in Slytherin," he said as his long hair slipped forward to cover his face and his gray eyes glinted dangerously, as if he meant to hit someone.
Peter was quite sure he wouldn't have said anything else, but the boy with the glasses didn't seem to mind; he just sat up a little straighter, his lips twitching into a smile as he said, "Blimey, and I thought you seemed all right!"
The other boy did grin then, sitting up as if suddenly finding the joke. "Maybe I'll break the tradition. Where are you heading, if you've got the choice?"
The boy with the glasses bounced out of his seat and raised his arm high as if thrusting an invisible sword and slashing through the air. "Gryffindor," he yelled, "'where dwell the brave at heart!' Like my dad."
The boy by the window made a small, disparaging noise, as if he was trying to swallow something bitter and sneeze all at the same time. The boy with the glasses turned and thrust his imaginary sword at him, and Peter imagined the blade stopping just at the boy's throat, like in the pictures of fairy books, right before it was revealed that the Muggle knight was really a Wizard in disguise. It was all Peter could do to keep from clapping.
"Got a problem with that?" The boy with the glasses asked, his imaginary sword still thrust in the air before him.
"No, if you'd rather be brawny than brainy--"
"Where're you hoping to go, seeing as you're neither?"
The boy with the glasses dropped his hand and fell back into his seat, roaring with laughter, as the boy across from him grinned again, pushing his hand through his black hair, looking less dangerous to Peter now, so that he smiled, too. The girl sat up, her cheeks glowing as red as her hair, and she looked at the other boys in disgust, her eyes taking in Peter as well. Peter's smile faltered for a moment as he looked at the other boys before deciding that perhaps the two closest to him had it right; he joined them to laugh out loud and earned a scowl from the girl as well.
"Come on, Severus, let's find another compartment," she said, her nose going into the air and her bright red hair swinging over her shoulder as if she couldn't quite stand to breathe the same air as them any longer, and Peter watched, having never seen anything like it before. They stood up, the girl and Severus, she had said his name was, to the sound of her words being repeated back to her as the other boys imitated her lofty voice and turned their noses up, clasping their hands beneath their chins. Peter laughed again, understanding that at least, as he'd been teased enough in the Muggle school he'd attended for less than a year before his mother found a tutor to teach him to read and write. He was grateful this time to have found himself on the right side of it.
The boy with the glasses stuck his foot out, trying to trip Severus as he passed. Severus managed to step over it, though when Peter tried it, too, Severus ended up stumbling into the hall.
"See ya, Snivellus!" The boy with the glasses called as the compartment door slammed shut. He sat up in his seat and looked around before his eyes settled on the boy across from him again. He stuck his hand out and said, "James Potter."
"Sirius Black." They shook hands and Peter sat up in his seat a bit, watching them.
"And you?" James said, looking at Peter.
"Peter Pettigrew."
"I know who your family is," James said, turning back to Sirius almost as if Peter hadn't spoken at all, and sat back, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Who in the wizarding world doesn't," Sirius drawled.
"You're the heir," said James, as if he understood these things, and Peter wondered what being the air meant. "You really will be a Slytherin then."
"I won't."
"And how are you going to get out of it?"
"I'll ask." Sirius turned his head to look out the window at the countryside speeding by. Peter suspected that Sirius honestly believed just asking would work, and Peter couldn't help but wonder who one would ask. The Headmaster, he supposed, but that didn't sound right either.
"You can't just ask," James said, taking his glasses off and cleaning them on the tail of his shirt.
"My father said that they put the Sorting Hat on you," Sirius began, his voice sure as if he'd been thinking about this for a while.
"I heard it was a test, something really hard," Peter interrupted, moving to sit on the edge of his seat and leaning in, wanting to know. He suspected his brother had lied to him about tests and spells and drinking a potion that would rot his tongue if he lied. Sirius looked at him with something like disdain while James laughed, so Peter turned to him. "My brother told me."
"You brother lied. It's the Sorting Hat. You sit on a stool in front of the whole school and it sorts you into one of the four houses. And you can't ask for it to put you someplace."
"Why not?" Sirius eased into the seat that the girl had left and stretched out across the bench, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Because you can't. It reads your thoughts or something, and tells you where you're going to be."
"Then it'll read that I don't want to be in Slytherin."
"That's not going to work."
"I'll bet it does."
"Fine, have it your way. Pocket money for a month?"
James held out his hand and Sirius didn't hesitate, sitting up to shake his hand, and then they were off talking about Quidditch, about which Peter actually knew quite a lot, but he didn't say anything else for a long time. Instead, he sat quietly, practicing the words, I'd like to be put into Gryffindor, please, repeating them in his head and trying to remember what James had initially said about Gryffindor--something about the heart dwelling--because he thought it might help his case.
Later that night, Peter still couldn't remember the exact phrase, and he thought it was lucky that the Sorting Hat kept calling out Gryffindor, because otherwise he might forget altogether. His brother had been placed in Ravenclaw, and his mother had said she couldn't wish for two Ravenclaw sons but would be happy enough if he could say he'd gotten into Hufflepuff. Peter hadn't liked the sound of that, thinking that maybe there was a danger of not being called for anything at all. So far, though all the students before him had been sorted, including Sirius Black into Gryffindor, just as he'd said. The silence in the Great Hall as Professor McGonagall picked up the hat from Sirius' head was broken only by James hissing quietly so that only Peter heard, dammit, a whole month's worth. There'd been a note of something else in James' voice, too, though, something that sounded like admiration to Peter.
His turn was coming closer now. Peter could see the rickety stool where another boy sat--Lupin, Remus--the hat sitting nearly on his shoulders, he was so small. His fingers were stretched out frozen in front of him, one thumb pressed to the other, which made Peter think of tiny wings. It took a long time, almost as long as it had taken with Sirius, and the Great Hall was quiet until the hat called out Gryffindor. Professor McGonagall smiled as she removed the hat and patted the boy's shoulder while the Gryffindor table cheered.
"How many Gryffindor boys can there be?" Peter whispered, having long ago lost count of how many had been called but thinking that surely they'd met the limit and he would be sorted into Hufflepuff after all, without ever being able to ask.
"They've only called two boys for Gryffindor," James whispered back as the Gryffindor cheers died down. Peter looked over to the table and saw that the Gryffindor first years sat together toward the middle. Remus Lupin was just sitting down across from Sirius with odd, stiff movements, and the girl from the train, Lily Evans, sat with two other girls, Iana Halley and Sabine something, Peter couldn't remember.
"And I'll be called for sure," James continued, and Peter nodded in agreement though he was barely listening now, because McKinnon, Matthew was being called for Ravenclaw. The line was shuffling up, and Peter could see that there were only three more students in front of him. And then suddenly it was his turn, Pettigrew, Peter, and he sat on the stool, gripping the seat with both hands as he looked up at Professor McGonagall's stern face and then out over the sea of faces in the Great Hall. She placed the hat on his head, and all was dark.
"Let's see what we have here," a voice said, and Peter jumped.
"It's Peter," Peter said, whispering because he wasn't sure he should be answering. "Peter Pettigrew."
"Oh yes, I remember the other Pettigrew, Andrew. Smart lad."
"I'm not like my brother," Peter said and then worried that it was the wrong thing to say as well. He wondered how one was supposed to talk to a hat and almost wished it had been a test.
"No? He was rather cunning, too. I did think perhaps Slytherin for him as well."
"Not Slytherin, please not Slytherin. I thought maybe Gryffindor."
"Gryffindor?" The hat seemed to scoff or sneer, the sound bringing up an image of his mother. Peter hadn't known a hat could do that, and he sat up straighter on the stool.
"I could be in Gryffindor," Peter said.
"And not Hufflepuff, you don't think?"
There was now a sound of laughter in the hat's voice, though maybe it wasn't a proper voice at all, now that Peter thought about it; no hat he'd ever owned had spoken to him. Peter screwed up his courage and said it again: "I should like to be in Gryffindor. Please."
This time the voice did come from without, the hat shouting Gryffindor, and then it was gone and the cheers were coming from the Gryffindor table, doubled in volume seconds later when Potter, James had barely sat upon the stool and the hat scarcely touched his head before calling out Gryffindor again.
Peter could not believe his luck and he was already forming the words he would write to his mother: Gryffindor, which everyone says is the best house, better than Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw combined. She'd see then that he was definitely a wizard and not just barely not a squib. His father might have been some great wizard, an auror perhaps, and that's why his mum said she didn't know his name; he could have been undercover, and begged her not to tell.
So caught up with his daydreams, Peter missed the end of the Sorting and all of Professor Dumbledore's remarks. He shoveled in food he didn't taste until quite suddenly there was a slice of cake in front of him, half gone, his fork poised above but frozen in place as the rest of the first years fell silent. Peter looked around and dropped his fork when he found Professor McGonagall standing behind him. He turned back around and sat up straight, James and Sirius staring at him as if he'd done something incredibly bad or incredibly stupid, and he supposed it could have been either.
"Mr. Lupin," Professor McGonagall said, her hand coming to rest, rather heavily Peter thought, on the shoulder of the boy next to him. "If you wouldn't mind coming with me to my office for a few moments, if you're finished with your dinner."
James and Sirius' eyes flickered in unison from Peter to Remus as Remus rose up awkwardly from the bench, his second-hand robe already showing a small tear where it had caught on a splinter from the sorting stool. They watched as he followed McGonagall from the Great Hall.
"He can't have got in trouble already," James said. "We just got here."
"A prefect told you off already for telling that girl that she'd have to wrestle the giant squid as part of the sorting," Sirius told him.
"That didn't count. I didn't think she'd believe me."
Sirius was smiling though, as though he had thought it a great joke anyway.
"My brother said that sometimes they hang you by your fingernails for hours in the dungeons if you're caught doing something bad," Peter blurted out.
For a moment James and Sirius stared at him, and then they burst out laughing, James banging the table with his hand, wheezing out, "That won't work. Your fingernails would fall out. Your brother's full of shit, mate."
The girls next to them breathed in together as one and for a moment Peter wondered how they did that, just as James and Sirius who seemed to fall into such an easy friendship that they seemed to move in unison already. He looked back at James and Sirius, to see if he could guess what they would do next, but James was leaning across the table, his glasses askew, and Sirius was turned away already, looking at the table behind them.
"I said it, Evans."
"You didn't. You're just lucky that Professor McGonagall has already gone off with Remus."
"I said his brother was full of it, isn't that right, Pettigrew."
Peter nodded, surprised that James remembered his name. "And he is, too. My brother. Though he did say that redheaded girls were tattle-tales."
James crowed again with laughter as Evans twisted up her face in a particularly unbecoming way and stood, the other girls, six in all, rising with her. Peter hadn't remembered precisely what his brother had said about redheads--he hadn't understood it all, being two years younger besides--but he thought maybe he'd gotten it close enough. The girls were moving off, along with everyone else all of a sudden, the meal done, and Peter jumped up when James and Sirius did, fighting his way through the crowd to where the other boys were gathering near the Gryffindor prefect who said, "Follow me, Gryffindor first years."
They spilled out the Great Hall doors, less in a single file line than in undulating form; the girls clumped together, clinging to each other's arms and chattering above the noise around them, while James, Sirius, and Peter walked behind them.
"How is that other boy going to find the dormitory?" Peter asked, standing on his tip toes in an effort to see around the taller students.
"McGonagall is our head of house," Sirius said, putting his hand on Peter's shoulder to shove him back down flat on his feet and push him forward.
"My brother said--"
"I thought we established that your brother quite possibly never attended Hogwarts."
"He did," Peter said. "But a long time ago. He was in his third year when I was born. He works for the Ministry now."
"Cousin."
Their path was suddenly blocked by a tall young woman wearing the colors of Slytherin, and Peter wondered for a moment if maybe she was the head of that house. He saw the Head Girl badge on her chest, then, though he didn't let his eyes linger there for too long out of fear for what she might do to him if caught. Her long blonde hair shifted on her shoulder as she leaned down, catching Sirius first by the chin and then, when he jerked away, by his shoulder.
"Cissa," Sirius said, and Peter now noticed the family resemblance. Another Black, he supposed, and wondered if the school wasn't crawling with them. He remembered Sirius had said that everyone knew who they were.
"Don't call me that," the girl said, straightening to tower over Sirius. She released Sirius when he shrugged as if the command didn't matter to him. "Your mother isn't going to be pleased about your little performance in there, cousin."
"No, probably not," Sirius said. He had jammed his hands deep into his pockets, his chin lifting defiantly but Peter thought he caught something that flickered like fear in Sirius' eyes but it was gone in an instant as Sirius bit out his next words. "Why don't you go ahead and owl her? I don't suppose you need help spelling the word traitor?"
The girl's hand rose up swiftly, and Peter closed his eyes against the sound of the slap that never came. Instead, James pushed him forward again, and he stumbled on the first step as they all climbed the staircase silently, the girls in front of them talking enough for ten boys, Peter thought. Halfway up the second flight of stairs, he finally dared to look around for the girl who had stopped them, and saw her standing with a tall boy with long blond hair, staring back at the Gryffindors with such malice that Peter immediately turned around, remembering what his brother had said about wordless curses. This time Peter had reason to believe him.
Everything was forgotten, though, once they reached the first year boys' dormitory in the Gryffindor tower and found their beds and trunks. Peter couldn't remember ever having been so tired, and he stood stupidly in the middle of the room, watching as James and Sirius chased each other around, jumping from trunk to bed to chair to window seat back to bed, only having to touch the floor once near the door to go from Sirius' bed to James'.
Peter found his trunk at the end of his bed, nearest the stove that was burning red with heat between James' and Remus' beds. He dug through, finding his pajamas, and the other boys gave the room another circuit while Sirius reminded James about their bet on the train at the top of his voice. When Peter came back from the bathroom, he crawled into his bed, and sighed deeply when he settled back into the pillows and blankets.
"You don't snore do you, Black?" James asked, kneeling down at his trunk finally to dig out his pajamas.
"No, but I bet Pettigrew does."
"I do not," Peter lied, grinning up at the canopy of his bed.
"Tosser. You'd better not."
Peter rose up on his elbows, smiling agreeably at where Sirius was unbuttoning his shirt before he flopped back, pulling the covers up with him.
"Who was that girl, Sirius?" Peter heard James quietly ask Sirius just as Peter was on the edge of sleep.
"My cousin, Narcissa."
"She looked like she wanted to hex you."
"I told you, practically my whole family has been in Slytherin. She's sending an owl to my mother right now, I bet."
"No more bets tonight."
"I suspect the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black will be in a right uproar tonight. I bet I have a howler in the morning."
Peter could think of at least ten other dreadful things he would rather have happen than receive a howler at breakfast where the whole school could hear, but he thought Sirius sounded a bit gleeful at the prospect. Peter raised his head, trying to see Sirius' face, but he couldn't; instead he lay back down to listen.
"It's not like you did it on purpose," James said.
"I did, too. I told you I would ask to be in Gryffindor."
"But what did it say, the Sorting Hat? Because it didn't say anything to me other than Potter."
"It did me, and I told it that I didn't want to be in Slytherin."
"But what did it say?"
Peter never heard Sirius' response if he would have given one. The door to the dormitory creaked opened and closed, and though Peter didn't sit up to make sure, he knew it must be Remus Lupin back from Professor McGonagall's office. He was asleep before anyone could speak, to confirm or anything else.
continued...
Author: Dani (
escriboWord Count: 3975
Rating: PG
(Pairings: in the future will be remus/sirius, lily/james)
Timeline: September 1 (Wednesday) 1971
Summary: Hogwarts Express and the Sorting
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended. I've not made nor seek any profit. Some of the dialogue on the train belongs to J.K. Rowling.
one
Peter had tried to find an empty compartment on the train, but there had been none left, and in the end he'd eased into one occupied by three other boys and a girl, first years like himself, who didn't notice him at all when he sat nearest the door. The girl sat nearest the window, crying, and Peter was glad that he was able to hold back the urge to cry himself. He'd thought about it as soon as the train had jerked away, and he could still see his mother on the platform, looking tired and defeated but relieved, too, he thought with a tiny twist of his guts that had chased his tears away, and he hadn't wanted to consider that any harder.
That he'd received the letter at all was something of a miracle to Peter. He had known for years that he could make things happen without even trying, but had hid that ability, perversely enjoying the way his mother despaired with his aunt about the possibility he might be a squib. He had dreamed of the day when he would suddenly be able to make something big happen--magic them a pile of gold, or transfigure their cat into a lion that would kill his mother's husband so they could be free. Instead, the letter from Hogwarts had come, announcing his acceptance, and his mother had sat down heavily in her chair, staring between Peter and the letter while he slowly twisted his hands over and over as if washing them in an imaginary sink.
Thank Merlin you're not a squib, she had finally said, and Peter had wanted to laugh. He had, later, when his mother did, too, after his brother had arrived in their fireplace for dinner that night. I thought he was a squib, she had said again, and everyone at the table had laughed, his brother the loudest, as the bowls of mashed turnips and baked beans flew from the kitchen and slopped over onto the blue checked tablecloth as they landed.
Those words were in Peter's head still as he sat on the Hogwarts Express: Thank Merlin I'm not a squib. He'd always known he wasn't, and his acceptance letter was jammed into his back pocket now, in case anyone demanded proof of it, as his brother had suggested they might. He would be a wizard; he'd figure out how to magic that lot of gold for his mother, and they'd be able to move from above the Muggle pub where she worked as a waitress. Her husband had said there was no easier way to make gold than by separating it from drunken Muggles, but Peter figured there must be, since his family didn't seem to have a lot of it. Only just enough to get by and then some, as his mother had so often said.
"You'd better be in Slytherin."
"Slytherin?" It was the girl in the corner by the window who said it. Her tears seemed to have dried up as she spoke with the pale boy in front of her, her head tipped to the side as if she was trying to riddle something out. The rest of the compartment had gone quiet, too, the two black-haired boys next to Peter interested now as well.
"Who wants to be in Slytherin? I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?" The question came from the boy closest to Peter, his eyes round and big behind his glasses, as the other boy across from him sunk lower in his seat, repeatedly kicking the heel of his shoe against the bottom of the bench. This boy didn't smile back.
"My whole family has been in Slytherin," he said as his long hair slipped forward to cover his face and his gray eyes glinted dangerously, as if he meant to hit someone.
Peter was quite sure he wouldn't have said anything else, but the boy with the glasses didn't seem to mind; he just sat up a little straighter, his lips twitching into a smile as he said, "Blimey, and I thought you seemed all right!"
The other boy did grin then, sitting up as if suddenly finding the joke. "Maybe I'll break the tradition. Where are you heading, if you've got the choice?"
The boy with the glasses bounced out of his seat and raised his arm high as if thrusting an invisible sword and slashing through the air. "Gryffindor," he yelled, "'where dwell the brave at heart!' Like my dad."
The boy by the window made a small, disparaging noise, as if he was trying to swallow something bitter and sneeze all at the same time. The boy with the glasses turned and thrust his imaginary sword at him, and Peter imagined the blade stopping just at the boy's throat, like in the pictures of fairy books, right before it was revealed that the Muggle knight was really a Wizard in disguise. It was all Peter could do to keep from clapping.
"Got a problem with that?" The boy with the glasses asked, his imaginary sword still thrust in the air before him.
"No, if you'd rather be brawny than brainy--"
"Where're you hoping to go, seeing as you're neither?"
The boy with the glasses dropped his hand and fell back into his seat, roaring with laughter, as the boy across from him grinned again, pushing his hand through his black hair, looking less dangerous to Peter now, so that he smiled, too. The girl sat up, her cheeks glowing as red as her hair, and she looked at the other boys in disgust, her eyes taking in Peter as well. Peter's smile faltered for a moment as he looked at the other boys before deciding that perhaps the two closest to him had it right; he joined them to laugh out loud and earned a scowl from the girl as well.
"Come on, Severus, let's find another compartment," she said, her nose going into the air and her bright red hair swinging over her shoulder as if she couldn't quite stand to breathe the same air as them any longer, and Peter watched, having never seen anything like it before. They stood up, the girl and Severus, she had said his name was, to the sound of her words being repeated back to her as the other boys imitated her lofty voice and turned their noses up, clasping their hands beneath their chins. Peter laughed again, understanding that at least, as he'd been teased enough in the Muggle school he'd attended for less than a year before his mother found a tutor to teach him to read and write. He was grateful this time to have found himself on the right side of it.
The boy with the glasses stuck his foot out, trying to trip Severus as he passed. Severus managed to step over it, though when Peter tried it, too, Severus ended up stumbling into the hall.
"See ya, Snivellus!" The boy with the glasses called as the compartment door slammed shut. He sat up in his seat and looked around before his eyes settled on the boy across from him again. He stuck his hand out and said, "James Potter."
"Sirius Black." They shook hands and Peter sat up in his seat a bit, watching them.
"And you?" James said, looking at Peter.
"Peter Pettigrew."
"I know who your family is," James said, turning back to Sirius almost as if Peter hadn't spoken at all, and sat back, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Who in the wizarding world doesn't," Sirius drawled.
"You're the heir," said James, as if he understood these things, and Peter wondered what being the air meant. "You really will be a Slytherin then."
"I won't."
"And how are you going to get out of it?"
"I'll ask." Sirius turned his head to look out the window at the countryside speeding by. Peter suspected that Sirius honestly believed just asking would work, and Peter couldn't help but wonder who one would ask. The Headmaster, he supposed, but that didn't sound right either.
"You can't just ask," James said, taking his glasses off and cleaning them on the tail of his shirt.
"My father said that they put the Sorting Hat on you," Sirius began, his voice sure as if he'd been thinking about this for a while.
"I heard it was a test, something really hard," Peter interrupted, moving to sit on the edge of his seat and leaning in, wanting to know. He suspected his brother had lied to him about tests and spells and drinking a potion that would rot his tongue if he lied. Sirius looked at him with something like disdain while James laughed, so Peter turned to him. "My brother told me."
"You brother lied. It's the Sorting Hat. You sit on a stool in front of the whole school and it sorts you into one of the four houses. And you can't ask for it to put you someplace."
"Why not?" Sirius eased into the seat that the girl had left and stretched out across the bench, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Because you can't. It reads your thoughts or something, and tells you where you're going to be."
"Then it'll read that I don't want to be in Slytherin."
"That's not going to work."
"I'll bet it does."
"Fine, have it your way. Pocket money for a month?"
James held out his hand and Sirius didn't hesitate, sitting up to shake his hand, and then they were off talking about Quidditch, about which Peter actually knew quite a lot, but he didn't say anything else for a long time. Instead, he sat quietly, practicing the words, I'd like to be put into Gryffindor, please, repeating them in his head and trying to remember what James had initially said about Gryffindor--something about the heart dwelling--because he thought it might help his case.
Later that night, Peter still couldn't remember the exact phrase, and he thought it was lucky that the Sorting Hat kept calling out Gryffindor, because otherwise he might forget altogether. His brother had been placed in Ravenclaw, and his mother had said she couldn't wish for two Ravenclaw sons but would be happy enough if he could say he'd gotten into Hufflepuff. Peter hadn't liked the sound of that, thinking that maybe there was a danger of not being called for anything at all. So far, though all the students before him had been sorted, including Sirius Black into Gryffindor, just as he'd said. The silence in the Great Hall as Professor McGonagall picked up the hat from Sirius' head was broken only by James hissing quietly so that only Peter heard, dammit, a whole month's worth. There'd been a note of something else in James' voice, too, though, something that sounded like admiration to Peter.
His turn was coming closer now. Peter could see the rickety stool where another boy sat--Lupin, Remus--the hat sitting nearly on his shoulders, he was so small. His fingers were stretched out frozen in front of him, one thumb pressed to the other, which made Peter think of tiny wings. It took a long time, almost as long as it had taken with Sirius, and the Great Hall was quiet until the hat called out Gryffindor. Professor McGonagall smiled as she removed the hat and patted the boy's shoulder while the Gryffindor table cheered.
"How many Gryffindor boys can there be?" Peter whispered, having long ago lost count of how many had been called but thinking that surely they'd met the limit and he would be sorted into Hufflepuff after all, without ever being able to ask.
"They've only called two boys for Gryffindor," James whispered back as the Gryffindor cheers died down. Peter looked over to the table and saw that the Gryffindor first years sat together toward the middle. Remus Lupin was just sitting down across from Sirius with odd, stiff movements, and the girl from the train, Lily Evans, sat with two other girls, Iana Halley and Sabine something, Peter couldn't remember.
"And I'll be called for sure," James continued, and Peter nodded in agreement though he was barely listening now, because McKinnon, Matthew was being called for Ravenclaw. The line was shuffling up, and Peter could see that there were only three more students in front of him. And then suddenly it was his turn, Pettigrew, Peter, and he sat on the stool, gripping the seat with both hands as he looked up at Professor McGonagall's stern face and then out over the sea of faces in the Great Hall. She placed the hat on his head, and all was dark.
"Let's see what we have here," a voice said, and Peter jumped.
"It's Peter," Peter said, whispering because he wasn't sure he should be answering. "Peter Pettigrew."
"Oh yes, I remember the other Pettigrew, Andrew. Smart lad."
"I'm not like my brother," Peter said and then worried that it was the wrong thing to say as well. He wondered how one was supposed to talk to a hat and almost wished it had been a test.
"No? He was rather cunning, too. I did think perhaps Slytherin for him as well."
"Not Slytherin, please not Slytherin. I thought maybe Gryffindor."
"Gryffindor?" The hat seemed to scoff or sneer, the sound bringing up an image of his mother. Peter hadn't known a hat could do that, and he sat up straighter on the stool.
"I could be in Gryffindor," Peter said.
"And not Hufflepuff, you don't think?"
There was now a sound of laughter in the hat's voice, though maybe it wasn't a proper voice at all, now that Peter thought about it; no hat he'd ever owned had spoken to him. Peter screwed up his courage and said it again: "I should like to be in Gryffindor. Please."
This time the voice did come from without, the hat shouting Gryffindor, and then it was gone and the cheers were coming from the Gryffindor table, doubled in volume seconds later when Potter, James had barely sat upon the stool and the hat scarcely touched his head before calling out Gryffindor again.
Peter could not believe his luck and he was already forming the words he would write to his mother: Gryffindor, which everyone says is the best house, better than Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw combined. She'd see then that he was definitely a wizard and not just barely not a squib. His father might have been some great wizard, an auror perhaps, and that's why his mum said she didn't know his name; he could have been undercover, and begged her not to tell.
So caught up with his daydreams, Peter missed the end of the Sorting and all of Professor Dumbledore's remarks. He shoveled in food he didn't taste until quite suddenly there was a slice of cake in front of him, half gone, his fork poised above but frozen in place as the rest of the first years fell silent. Peter looked around and dropped his fork when he found Professor McGonagall standing behind him. He turned back around and sat up straight, James and Sirius staring at him as if he'd done something incredibly bad or incredibly stupid, and he supposed it could have been either.
"Mr. Lupin," Professor McGonagall said, her hand coming to rest, rather heavily Peter thought, on the shoulder of the boy next to him. "If you wouldn't mind coming with me to my office for a few moments, if you're finished with your dinner."
James and Sirius' eyes flickered in unison from Peter to Remus as Remus rose up awkwardly from the bench, his second-hand robe already showing a small tear where it had caught on a splinter from the sorting stool. They watched as he followed McGonagall from the Great Hall.
"He can't have got in trouble already," James said. "We just got here."
"A prefect told you off already for telling that girl that she'd have to wrestle the giant squid as part of the sorting," Sirius told him.
"That didn't count. I didn't think she'd believe me."
Sirius was smiling though, as though he had thought it a great joke anyway.
"My brother said that sometimes they hang you by your fingernails for hours in the dungeons if you're caught doing something bad," Peter blurted out.
For a moment James and Sirius stared at him, and then they burst out laughing, James banging the table with his hand, wheezing out, "That won't work. Your fingernails would fall out. Your brother's full of shit, mate."
The girls next to them breathed in together as one and for a moment Peter wondered how they did that, just as James and Sirius who seemed to fall into such an easy friendship that they seemed to move in unison already. He looked back at James and Sirius, to see if he could guess what they would do next, but James was leaning across the table, his glasses askew, and Sirius was turned away already, looking at the table behind them.
"I said it, Evans."
"You didn't. You're just lucky that Professor McGonagall has already gone off with Remus."
"I said his brother was full of it, isn't that right, Pettigrew."
Peter nodded, surprised that James remembered his name. "And he is, too. My brother. Though he did say that redheaded girls were tattle-tales."
James crowed again with laughter as Evans twisted up her face in a particularly unbecoming way and stood, the other girls, six in all, rising with her. Peter hadn't remembered precisely what his brother had said about redheads--he hadn't understood it all, being two years younger besides--but he thought maybe he'd gotten it close enough. The girls were moving off, along with everyone else all of a sudden, the meal done, and Peter jumped up when James and Sirius did, fighting his way through the crowd to where the other boys were gathering near the Gryffindor prefect who said, "Follow me, Gryffindor first years."
They spilled out the Great Hall doors, less in a single file line than in undulating form; the girls clumped together, clinging to each other's arms and chattering above the noise around them, while James, Sirius, and Peter walked behind them.
"How is that other boy going to find the dormitory?" Peter asked, standing on his tip toes in an effort to see around the taller students.
"McGonagall is our head of house," Sirius said, putting his hand on Peter's shoulder to shove him back down flat on his feet and push him forward.
"My brother said--"
"I thought we established that your brother quite possibly never attended Hogwarts."
"He did," Peter said. "But a long time ago. He was in his third year when I was born. He works for the Ministry now."
"Cousin."
Their path was suddenly blocked by a tall young woman wearing the colors of Slytherin, and Peter wondered for a moment if maybe she was the head of that house. He saw the Head Girl badge on her chest, then, though he didn't let his eyes linger there for too long out of fear for what she might do to him if caught. Her long blonde hair shifted on her shoulder as she leaned down, catching Sirius first by the chin and then, when he jerked away, by his shoulder.
"Cissa," Sirius said, and Peter now noticed the family resemblance. Another Black, he supposed, and wondered if the school wasn't crawling with them. He remembered Sirius had said that everyone knew who they were.
"Don't call me that," the girl said, straightening to tower over Sirius. She released Sirius when he shrugged as if the command didn't matter to him. "Your mother isn't going to be pleased about your little performance in there, cousin."
"No, probably not," Sirius said. He had jammed his hands deep into his pockets, his chin lifting defiantly but Peter thought he caught something that flickered like fear in Sirius' eyes but it was gone in an instant as Sirius bit out his next words. "Why don't you go ahead and owl her? I don't suppose you need help spelling the word traitor?"
The girl's hand rose up swiftly, and Peter closed his eyes against the sound of the slap that never came. Instead, James pushed him forward again, and he stumbled on the first step as they all climbed the staircase silently, the girls in front of them talking enough for ten boys, Peter thought. Halfway up the second flight of stairs, he finally dared to look around for the girl who had stopped them, and saw her standing with a tall boy with long blond hair, staring back at the Gryffindors with such malice that Peter immediately turned around, remembering what his brother had said about wordless curses. This time Peter had reason to believe him.
Everything was forgotten, though, once they reached the first year boys' dormitory in the Gryffindor tower and found their beds and trunks. Peter couldn't remember ever having been so tired, and he stood stupidly in the middle of the room, watching as James and Sirius chased each other around, jumping from trunk to bed to chair to window seat back to bed, only having to touch the floor once near the door to go from Sirius' bed to James'.
Peter found his trunk at the end of his bed, nearest the stove that was burning red with heat between James' and Remus' beds. He dug through, finding his pajamas, and the other boys gave the room another circuit while Sirius reminded James about their bet on the train at the top of his voice. When Peter came back from the bathroom, he crawled into his bed, and sighed deeply when he settled back into the pillows and blankets.
"You don't snore do you, Black?" James asked, kneeling down at his trunk finally to dig out his pajamas.
"No, but I bet Pettigrew does."
"I do not," Peter lied, grinning up at the canopy of his bed.
"Tosser. You'd better not."
Peter rose up on his elbows, smiling agreeably at where Sirius was unbuttoning his shirt before he flopped back, pulling the covers up with him.
"Who was that girl, Sirius?" Peter heard James quietly ask Sirius just as Peter was on the edge of sleep.
"My cousin, Narcissa."
"She looked like she wanted to hex you."
"I told you, practically my whole family has been in Slytherin. She's sending an owl to my mother right now, I bet."
"No more bets tonight."
"I suspect the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black will be in a right uproar tonight. I bet I have a howler in the morning."
Peter could think of at least ten other dreadful things he would rather have happen than receive a howler at breakfast where the whole school could hear, but he thought Sirius sounded a bit gleeful at the prospect. Peter raised his head, trying to see Sirius' face, but he couldn't; instead he lay back down to listen.
"It's not like you did it on purpose," James said.
"I did, too. I told you I would ask to be in Gryffindor."
"But what did it say, the Sorting Hat? Because it didn't say anything to me other than Potter."
"It did me, and I told it that I didn't want to be in Slytherin."
"But what did it say?"
Peter never heard Sirius' response if he would have given one. The door to the dormitory creaked opened and closed, and though Peter didn't sit up to make sure, he knew it must be Remus Lupin back from Professor McGonagall's office. He was asleep before anyone could speak, to confirm or anything else.
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I absolutely love that, I do. And I love the train journey and the banter and all the sussing out of each other they so immediately do.
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<3
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I'm going to bed now, but I can't wait to read more tomorrow! I love this fic already :D
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Basically, I think your fic thus far is spectacular, and will be blaming you if I don't get this paper done this weekend because of it ;)
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