Magnolia

Peter slams the dorm room door behind him. All three Marauders look up from their conversation.

“I just snogged Gilderoy Lockhart,” he announces.

The room is entirely silent as the news sinks in. All their eyes are wide.

To his dismay, Sirius just sputters, “Wormy, you — you snogged somebody?”

Peter tries not to pay attention to the way his heart drops in his chest. He’s not that much of a loser, is he? The idea that someone is actually willing to kiss him isn’t totally unbelievable.

“Gilderoy Lockhart?” Remus repeats. His eyebrows are furrowed. James’s face has a similarly wary expression.

Okay, that’s just shit. Who the hell are either of them to judge Peter? Remus and Sirius get in a fight every other day. And James has been following little Regulus Black around for ages, thinking no one’s noticed. To be fair, no one has, besides Peter. But not only does Regulus hate James — he’s Sirius’s baby brother! At least Peter is honest about his poor decisions.

Nobody looks sure on what to say. “I…didn’t know you swung that way, Pete,” Remus decides to settle on.

Peter flushes. “I don’t,” he says firmly. “I’m not gay. Just…wanna know what cologne he wears.”

“Right,” Sirius says, but sarcasm tinges his voice. All three boys snort and exchange smirks. It’s so familiar — the three of them sharing an inside joke while Peter stands there, on the outside. That’s how it was when they told him that Remus was a werewolf. They had sniggered and teased him, of course you’re the last to know. Living blissfully unaware while we figured it out, eh? Peter had just laughed along rather than admitting that he’d figured it out a while ago. That he had waited to let Remus tell them himself. He didn’t mind back then; keeping their secrets has become second nature. But sometimes, like right now, he wonders what would happen if he spilled them all out, wiped their knowing smiles off their faces when they discover all the levels of treachery operating in this dorm room.

He entertains that fantasy for a minute — not holding the burden of being the designated secret-keeper for once. But no. Peter is a good friend. He wouldn’t do something like that, no matter how bitter he got.

So he just sits down and listens to them plan a prank. He doesn’t speak much. He’s tired. They don’t notice.

-

Peter continues to run into Gilderoy Lockhart. It’s not a conscious decision. Really. He just keeps finding himself in those situations.

The first time they kissed he had been drunk at a wild party. It didn’t mean anything. Everyone has gotten into some ridiculous debacle while three sheets to the wind — once, James got sloshed, transformed into his deer form, and couldn’t turn back. Padfoot had to tuck him into bed with his hooves sticking out of the bedsheets and his tongue lolling out of his head. Peter still has the pictures.

The point is, if he wanted to, he could pretend that nothing ever happened with Gilderoy Lockhart.

But one morning Peter wakes up to find every single bed in their dormitory is empty. He scours the common room, he checks the usual secret passages, and finally has to ask Lily about it when he trudges down to the Great Hall in defeat.

“Remus and Sirius went down to Hogsmeade today, I think,” she offers. “And James is with —” she freezes. “I mean, I think James is with… the Quidditch team. Practicing. That is today, isn’t it?”

“It’s not,” Peter says numbly. She’s obviously lying, and if she’s lying, then there’s only one person James could be seeing. It stings — not because James still hasn’t told Peter about his relationship with Regulus, but because James told Lily about him. He knew the two of them were getting closer, but James was Peter’s very first friend. Does he seriously think he won’t support him?

Mary looks down at him with a sympathetic gaze. Peter’s whole body flushes hot with humiliation and he storms away without eating a thing.

Okay. Fine. The Marauders are all with their stupid boyfriends. Who needs them anyway? He’ll just do something productive. Maybe he’ll practice some spells. When James and Sirius and Remus are all begging him for help with Charms, maybe they’ll finally realize they were stupid to abandon him.

Peter decides to go to the Great Lake. It's a beautiful day outside, that's for sure. The sun is shining and there’s only a hint of a breeze. But the weather isn't the only reason he ventures out. Somewhere deep inside him, he harbours the tiny hope that Remus and Sirius will walk back from Hogsmeade and see him studying alone. Hopefully they'll be flooded with guilt.

So he hikes down to the lake and settles himself by the water. Two minutes into studying, he’s gloomily reminded that he is, in fact, terrible at Charms and the other boys will not, in fact, beg him for his help — honestly, it’s looking like it’ll be the other way around. Christ, he needs a tutor or something. The worst part is that he can’t stop thinking about how they left him. Anger boils up in him until he’s digging his nails into his palms. He tries to focus on the spells swirling in his brain. But he’s alone, shaking at the edge of the lake while the water crashes and breaks over the sand. Peter wants to hit something. He wants to kill them.

There are footsteps behind him on the path. Peter whirls around. Gilderoy Lockhart stops in his tracks when their eyes meet. He is cradling a bag with the Honeydukes logo scrawled across it.

Something like shame slashes through Peter. He remembers, dimly, the expression on Lockhart’s face when they were arguing; he barely remembers the feeling of their lips pressed together. The vivid lights on his arrogant features. The glow like stars in his eyes. But Peter shakes off the embarrassment. It’s Lockhart. He doesn’t particularly care what he thinks of him. He certainly doesn’t feel a tugging curiosity at what his mouth would feel like when he’s sober enough to remember it.

Get it together, Pettigrew. He abashedly forces his gaze back down to his wand. Peter hears a huff. Clearly Lockhart doesn’t take too kindly to being ignored.

Something comes over Peter. A desperate urge to be seen. To hold a normal conversation without all the little white lies that build up. At least if Lockhart lies to him, Peter won’t have to live with that knowledge in silence.

“Lockhart,” he calls gruffly.

He sniffs haughtily. “Need something, Pettigrew?”

“You’re top of our year in Charms, right?”

-

Surprisingly, Lockhart knows his stuff. His golden curls tumble over his eyes as he shuffles the deck of flashcards. “Wingardium Leviosa — oh, come on. That’s too easy. Let’s try something harder, shall we? Aguamenti.”

“That’s the water one, right?”

“Correct. Incendio?”

Peter blanks. “Er… the smoke charm?”

“Close.”

“Fire?”

“That’s right! Now give it a try.”

Lockhart insists that the best way to memorize charms and what they do — “After all, not everyone can remember each spell right off the bat, like myself” — is to practice the charm after each correct guess. He may be onto something.

“Incendio,” Peter mutters, half-sure nothing will happen. A small flame flickers at the end.

Lockhart flashes him that dazzling grin. “Well done! What did I say? There’s no better teacher in all of Hogwarts. Try to turn your wrist more next time.”

“Incendio!” Peter tries again. A column of flame shoots out.

“Magnificent!” He marvels. “Under my instruction, you’re sure to get an O on the N.E.W.T exam. Go on, take a chocolate!”

It’s silly, but Peter flushes under the praise. Perhaps Lockhart’s unwavering confidence in himself is spreading. He tries to hide his shy grin as he reaches into Gilderoy's Honeydukes bag and pops a sweet in his mouth.

“Pete?” Someone calls disbelievingly.

Sirius and Remus have clearly returned from their date. Peter’s eyes dart between the boys and Lockhart. Peter’s brilliant idea of shocking the other Marauders with the fact that they’d left him all alone is beginning to look pretty stupid now. Gilderoy’s shining smile has dimmed. Remus shoots him a wary look. Sirius just looks like he’s trying to fight a laugh.

“Oh. Hello, Pads. Moony.”

“What are you…doing?”

“Studying Charms,” Peter’s face heats up. “We, er — ran into each other,” he stutters, glancing at Lockhart, who looks nervous for some odd reason.

“Yes. Well. Best be going, then.” Lockhart drops the bag of sweets in Peter’s lap. “You can keep that,” he drawls. Before Peter can protest, he stands up, brushes the sand off his robes, and marches up the path back to school. Peter feels like the breath has left his lungs.

In no time Sirius and Remus fill up his seat. “What are you doing with that wanker?” Sirius hisses.

Peter carefully packs up his bag. “Studying,” he huffs. “Because you two fucked off without me, and only Merlin knows where James went, so I decided to actually do something productive.”

Remus winces. Sirius rolls his eyes. “Merlin, Wormy. No need to throw a strop about it.”

Peter snaps his bag shut. He forces a deep breath through his lungs. Shoves down his rising anger and grits out, “Sorry. You’re right, it’s just been a day.”

Sirius snorts. “Must’ve been — you had to hang out with him."

And whose fault was that? Peter thinks. Who abandoned me here and then came back surprised that I found someone else to spend time with?

The walk back to Gryffindor Tower is next to silent, a storm cloud growing over Peter’s face that the others don’t dare prod.

It only grows more aggressive when they run into James trying to sneak back into their dorm. His collar is popped up to hide his neck as he tries to straighten his rumpled uniform.

“Prongs?” Sirius calls up to the top of the staircase. James jumps and nearly tumbles down the whole flight of stairs. Sirius squints. “Where the hell did you get those hickeys?”

Next to him, Peter rolls his eyes with a scoff. “And you lot think I’m the dim one.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sirius asks blankly.

Peter just hikes up the stairs, grumbling, and slams the door behind him.

-

He discovers at a Ravenclaw afterparty that Gilderoy uses five squirts of cologne every day. Usually Peter sticks to the Gryffindor parties, simply because the Marauders stick to Gryffindor parties. But when Pandora Lovegood invited all the girls — “And you as well, Peter. The stars say you simply must come” — his whole body lit up against his will. Gil will be there. He tried to convince himself that the thrill that raced through him was simply anticipation at having another chance to find out what elusive cologne Lockhart used. But now, pressing Gilderoy Lockhart against the wall of a shadowy alcove and snogging the brains out of him while Bowie wails in the background, Peter has to admit that he enjoys this a little.

Wait, not “enjoy,” he thinks. That can’t be the right word, can it? He slows down to tame his thoughts and catch his breath. Gilderoy groans, clearly displeased at the development.

It’s just — well, it’s just kissing. That’s it, he thinks as he resigns himself back to burying himself in his neck. Of course it’s going to be a little exciting. Doesn’t mean he’s into it. If he went and snogged any old girl he’d be enjoying it just as much as he’s enjoying this. Probably more! And who could give him grief over a little fun, as the boys would say?

And a huge factor in this is the cologne, of course. Peter figured out ages ago that Gilderoy must spray his back with it. How else would he get it to trail after him maddeningly as Peter packs up after Potions class?

Now he finds that Lockhart sprays it behind each of his ears as well. Peter gets a noseful of it as he sucks hard on the skin right below it.

The smell is what draws a groan from Peter’s throat. Certainly not the way Gilderoy tugs at his shirt demandingly like he just can’t get enough of him.

Pear. That’s what that fruit smell is. Peter smiles against his neck.

-

Two days later he finds out that Gilderoy uses it on his collarbone as well. Not his neck — Peter had deduced a week ago that spraying it on after he shaves bothers him. Mostly because he’d prattled on about it when Peter was trying to study, but still. The insight had bugged him: if it’s not on his neck, why do I still smell it when I’m kissing him?

The cologne obsession is getting ridiculous. It has reached the point where Sirius had to yell at him for all the tossing and turning at night. He just can’t get that smell out of his head, and when he thinks of the cologne he inevitably ends up thinking about Gilderoy’s face and neck and hands, and Merlin, that’s torture. Who wants to be thinking about Gilderoy Lockhart all the time? Certainly not Peter. So that’s that, he’s decided. As soon as he finds out what cologne he uses, he will finally stop hanging out with Lockhart. His restless mind will be quieted and his alarming thoughts will be put to rest.

They’re in the library when a breakthrough happens. Gilderoy is teaching him the Obliviate spell.

“It’s important to keep the motion precise, or you may accidentally erase too many memories,” he points out.

Peter writes that down. The information is helpful, and Gilderoy is actually excellent at explaining things in a way Peter can understand. It’s been properly annoying to learn that, while Gilderoy may be an egotistical bastard, he certainly has the brains to back him up. Peter is soaking up every word.

Except for when he starts showing him the wand movement. The top button of his poncy white shirt comes undone, and the scent is back. Pear and something flowery. Like a summer’s day. His collarbones are showing, and they’re rather prominent too. Peter debates with himself whether he should point it out. It’s objectively not a big deal, except for the blush that’s surely blazing across his cheeks. Finally, he reasons that he shouldn’t embarrass Gilderoy. Especially after he’s been so generous, spending all his time studying with Peter while the Marauders are out with their paramours.

So, like a good friend, Peter stares at the boy and doesn’t speak a word about it. Just drags his gaze along his marvellously sculpted shoulders up to his slightly crooked nose. Traces his freckles and his eyes and the smile lines around his mouth that used to annoy him when they first met.

“Are you paying attention?” Lockhart raises his eyebrows. “Or too focused on my flawless face?”

“You’re not flawless.”

Gilderoy’s lips turn up. “That’s not true at all. Perhaps you should describe what, exactly, you take issue with. Somewhere a little quieter.”

Peter grins. That’s how they end up tangled up behind a bookshelf with the scent of pear cologne swirling in Peter’s brain.