Planned & Loved
The funny thing about growing up as an only child is that it can go so many different ways. No one child has the same experience. In the Pettigrew household, love seemed to seep in through every crack in the wall and around the foundation, only strengthening and supporting it further.
Peter didn’t know what it was like to grow up with parents who weren’t truly supportive. His parents weren’t perfect, of course, but they tried.
Peter’s father loved to show his son as many magic tricks as possible, pretending to hide it from Peter’s mother if only to catch Peter’s giggles at the action.
“Again! Again!” He’d whisper-shout, more loud than quiet and Martin couldn’t help but indulge his son with dramatic displays of magic from a storm cloud of bubbles to mini fireworks.
Edwina would roll her eyes but smile nonetheless, never failing to do the dishes with magic so little Peter could gasp and shriek in excitement as the plates flew away and danced towards the sink.
But a parent’s love could only do so much.
“He’s so weird.”
“Does he have to come here?”
“Don’t look at him! You’ll probably catch something.”
He didn’t want to worry his parents; they worked so hard just to make him happy, the least he could do was pretend he was.
“Sorry, our table’s full.”
“Yeah, we already have too many people playing. Sorry.”
So he’d sit alone at lunch. He’d play alone too. He’d lie to the teachers that he liked the solitude, if only to stop them from forcing the other kids to play with him. They’d tried that once. The game of tag he’d joined seemed rather targeted. He didn’t try again.
Lying to his mother — once a horrid thought — became startlingly easy. She was so busy with work and constantly worrying about Peter making friends that Peter couldn’t bear the idea of making her stress any more.
So he’d bury the loneliness with all the tears he couldn’t shed.
Peter’s father, a busy Ministry worker, only took on more work as Peter grew, though he’d easily call in sick if he knew Peter needed him. But they’d raised him well. Peter didn’t want to be a bother; the other kids always seemed to see him more as a burden, what if his parents secretly did too?
Last picked for group activities and never having that desired special friend. Everyone had a best friend, why couldn’t he?
“You’re kinda chubby. No offense.”
“You should run a bit more. It’d be good for you.”
He’d eat a bit less, lie and say he wasn’t hungry. His mother would eye him curiously, try and give him more. He’d pretend he ‘forgot’ to pack his lunch to take to school, would run late on purpose so the lie was more believable. It was easier for his parents to call him lazy for sleeping in, rather than get mad at the thought of him purposefully leaving his lunch on the kitchen counter.
It wasn’t like eating less was helping him lose much anyway.
“Look at him running! He’s probaby trying to lose weight.”
Exercise wasn’t even an option, after all.
“Ew!! I don’t have a crush on Peter!”
“No one likes a fat boy, obviously.”
It’d be a miracle if he ever found friends, let alone a future partner. How could he understand it was just his body type if no one else seemed to look like him? How was he meant to feel okay with his looks if everyone just mocked him for them?
“You’ll love Hogwarts, honey. Don’t you worry about missing your old friends.” His mother would try to soothe. How could he miss friends he didn’t have? How was a loner ever meant to build friendships?
A boy raised with love but taught he didn’t deserve it — was he not doomed from the start?
Hogwarts would be the same as his day school, right? He’d get a dorm so maybe he could hide there instead of in hidden corridors or between buildings. All he needed was to get through the next few years. At least it’d be easier to lie to his parents when they couldn’t see the guilt displayed across his face.
“Oh Hogwarts is lovely. Like a home away from home.” His father would laugh.
“But we’re right here if you ever need us.” His mother would remind him. If she never fell for his lies, she wouldn’t tell him. He’d accept the hugs that came out of nowhere, hold his mother’s hand as tightly as he could on the walk to school and plan to write to her every week at his new school.
An only child may be loved by their family, but it is impossible to ensure they remain loved by society. The life of an only child can often be lonely, even with parents who prioritise said child.
But it often takes one to know one. A lonely child doesn’t always stay lonely. Sometimes, just sometimes, they find comfort in their new homes. Who said you needed just the one? An extrovert adopts an introvert, a tale as old as time.
Peter did not end up alone in the end. If only little Pete could see him now, oh how bright he’d smile.
How proud Edwina and Martin become of their son — a saviour of the Wizarding World. Though, they’re more proud of the love-filled friend circle he manages to find, of course.
The only child, planned and loved. A resilient loner who grew to care beyond himself. A boy told he was selfish and greedy, more selfless than they could dream. The ignored quiet kid, taught he was unlovable. The little boy shunned from friendship groups who had a reserved seat in an exclusive, warm network of chosen kin.
A strong little boy — who’d always been called a coward — that became far more brave than any of his taunters could every dream. A friend so loyal he’d take the insults, quips and curses any day, risking his life to protect each friend.
A boy, willing to overcome even the strongest manipulation for the warm camaraderie he’d found. A man who faced death daily and laughed despite it. A loved, unloved child.
The isolated, cowardly kid, picked on for his weight and looks. The resilient, brave and talented diversionist who saved the Wizarding World, but more importantly, succeeded in saving his best friends.
Such is the tale of one Peter Pettigrew.