cinnamon
On his quest for knowledge and to prove Sirius Black wrong, Peter seems to run into a bit of a problem. You see, he’s spent his whole evening searching the castle for friendly ghosts. He desperately needs information about Slughorn’s locked chest and key. And who better to help him than a free-roaming spirit who can pass through any wall? He figures he won’t win the competition, so he’ll just have to steal the potion himself and replace it with a faux one. Was it a little mean? Sure. But he knew other students had done far worse for much less gain.
He had made it one word with the Bloody Baron before the headless hunt had carried him off in a stampede, could not find the Grey Lady at all, even though he was positive it was her singing he had heard, and was absolutely sure Peeves would go running to Filch the second he asked for help.
He huffed, already in a bad mood. He had been working with Gilderoy in class for two days now, and was still no closer to coming up with a plan for the slug club party in four days.
How hard was it to find a ghostly accomplice on Hogwarts grounds? Apparently, harder than he thought. So, here he was in the middle of the night, standing outside the Prefect’s bathroom with a signed Quidditch autograph from James Potter.
He knew, logistically, he had nothing to be afraid of. Moaning Myrtle was just a teenage girl. A very moody and loud teenage girl, sure, but a normal girl nonetheless. He steeled himself as he walked into the bathroom.
“Myrtle? I heard you were in here. I was wondering if you would help me…?” He says meekly.
Peter gasps as Myrtle flies straight through the floor by his feet and floats mere inches away, a huge smile on her face.
“How lovely! A visitor. You’re friends with the cute boy, James!” She sighs lovingly, and melts onto the floor.
Peter tries to not roll his eyes and clears his throat. “Yes, uh, I know you have a sort of infatuation with him. I was wondering if you would help me in exchange for this picture and autograph of him?”
Myrtle, revived, snatches up the picture quickly. She holds it very close to her face before letting it drop into a puddle on the floor.
“Hey!” Peter says, and rushes to pick it up before it’s ruined.
Myrtle weeps and screams, and Peter drops the picture in favor of covering his ears.
He squints up at Myrtle as she sobs. “No, no, NO! A picture? Why would I want a picture of him, when you could get him to me in person?”
Peter grinds his teeth in frustration. “Because, I'm not sure he would like to be down here in the middle of the night.”
Myrtle crosses her arms and flies up to the highest point of the bathroom, sitting on a ledge.
“Well, I'm sorry Mr. Rat, but you don’t have a deal.”
Peter gapes at the nickname, but does suppose Myrtle knows everything that goes along around here. His face flushes.
Peter sighs, too exhausted to deal with this a second longer. “Okay. I’ll be back later.”
He knows he only has a couple of days to figure this out, but he has a headache that hurts like hell. Pulling the invisibility cloak back on, he heads out of the bathroom and outside to one of the small greenhouses.
Peter blames Pandora Rosier for his terrible smoking habit. Well, that’s what he tells himself to feel a little better. Whenever he’s stressed, or exhausted, he comes to the greenhouse to smoke a spliff. Sometimes with Dora, sometimes with Barty, sometimes alone on nights like these.
He usually has a little marijuana on him, and he is very grateful that past-him had already made it into a premade joint. He lies comfortably against the wall, next to a cracked open window to let some of the smell out. The huge bags of seeds don't make too bad of a seat, actually.
He’s almost too comfortable that he doesn't hear the footsteps until they’re right outside. He rushes to pull the cloak over his head just in time. A figure opens the door and steps into the greenhouse, bringing the faint smell of cinnamon with them, carried in with the autumn breeze.
Ah, shit.
The figure turns their head to look behind them, and in the faint moonlight, Peter catches their face. He relaxes and lets out a quiet huff of laughter as he takes the cloak off.
Curiously, Gilderoy doesn't see him, and heads straight for the corner of the greenhouse and uncovers a plant pot from a pile of rubbish stacked up nearby.
He waits for Gilderoy to notice him from the shadows. Peter watches him for about two minutes as he picks the leaves off of the Mallowsweet plant and puts them into a little bag. A smile in his voice, Peter decides to break the silence.
“Hey, Gilderoy.” He says calmly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He takes another inhale from his spiff and holds it in his mouth.
“Merlin’s fucking balls!” Gilderoy jumps about ten feet in the air.
Peter laughs, smoke coming out of his nose and mouth, having never heard Gilderoy swear before. He acts so pompous sometimes, Peter didn't know if he actually knew any.
Gilderoy relaxes. “Oh. It’s just you.” He says quietly, walking over to where Peter sits.
“Just me.” Peter agrees.
“I don’t know why I’m so jumpy.” He admits, a hand resting on his fast-beating heart. His face is red.
“Want something to calm you down?” Peter asks, holding the joint out for him to take.
“I- I better not.” Gilderoy clears his throat.
“M’kay.” Peter smiles easily at Gilderoy.
“On second thought, I suppose it couldn't hurt.” He says, and takes it.
Peter doesn't know why he’s surprised that Gilderoy has done this before. He doesn't cough as he inhales, and sits next to Peter on another sack. They’re quiet for a couple of minutes as they pass the joint back and forth.
Peter speaks up, after what could have been seconds or hours. “Why were you harvesting that Mallowsweet? I don’t think it’s an ingredient. Though I guess I probably just don’t remember it right.”
Gilderoy sighs. “Don’t put yourself down like that. And you’re correct, it’s not for the potion.”
“Hmm,” Peter says, but Gilderoy doesn't elaborate.
So, he changes the subject.
“Moaning Myrtle is being impossible.” He whines, not providing any context to the situation.
Surprisingly, Gilderoy laughs. “Myrtle? Oh Merlin’s Beard, I love talking with her. She’s a terrible gossip, you see.”
“I need to ask her for a favor. If you’re mates, can you ask her to do something for me?” He pleads.
Gilderoy raises his eyes in interest. “Oh? What kind of favor?”
Peter kicks him with his foot. “You nosy little Ravenclaw.” He jokes. Gilderoy smiles and takes another puff.
They talk for a little while, moving on to a new subject. About everything and nothing. Peter starts to get sleepy.
“You know, you don't have such a stick up your ass when you're high,” Peter says, grinning.
“And you’re not such a pushover, Pettigrew.” Gilderoy chuckles.
Peter gapes and flicks the joint at him. “You fucking cunt!”
Gilderoy throws his head back to laugh, and the moonlight catches on his face, basking him in a cool glow. And- suddenly Peter forgot what he was talking about. All his thoughts seem to escape from his brain, just like that.
Peter smiles because Gilderoy is smiling. He tilts his head. Weirdly enough, Gilderoy reminds him of Emmeline. Pretty, witty. His navy robes just look so good on him; blue is definitely his color.
They chat a little more, and Peter really notices how Gilderoy’s mood changes. He acts more loose and relaxed. He integrates big words seamlessly into his vocabulary as he chatters away. Peter wonders if he read a lot of books as a kid.
Peter laughs as Gilderoy tells more of the story of his acquaintance, Teddy.
“And this absolute git does not take the pragmatic approach, you know. So he talks all about it to his mates, and just when you think everything is fine, this absolutely diminutive detail pokes a hole in his story. And of course, his girlfriend catches on soon; she’s always been smarter than him.” He laughs.
“So, now I feel rather ambivalent- uh I mean contradictory, about the lad now.” He finishes, still smiling.
He looks to Peter for his opinion, but the Gryffindor only purses his lips.
Peter squints his eyes. “Why do you do that? Change your words? I know you’re not actually a pretentious asshole like you pretend to be. You push people away for no reason.” He's so curious. Why does Gilderoy mask his personality and brains under a character with a massive ego?
Taken aback, Gilderoy stares at him for a moment.
“Well, uh, because that’s how I talked in my first couple of years here at Hogwarts. And no one likes the know-it-all nerd.” Gilderoy shrugs.
“Well, that still doesn't explain why you told me to go back to my seat in Charms.” His mind a little foggy, Peter pushes even further, not thinking about how Gilderoy might not be comfortable sharing everything with him.
Maybe it’s their blossoming friendship or just the fact that Gilderoy might not be thinking exactly clearly, but he answers slowly, choosing his words carefully.
“I've found… it's better to seem independent than needy. If I depend on people, I seem weak. I let some things slip out. When you’re true to yourself and vulnerable, people will find the things that haunt you the most and tear them out for all to see. So I'm not like that anymore. That’s why I'm… detached from my ‘mates’. ” He says the last word in finger quotes, then nervously picks at his run-down coat, twisting a thread around his finger. It then occurs to Peter that Gilderoy might be collecting the leaves to sell down in Hogsmeade for extra money, like Remus used to do with his cigarettes. He feels like a complete git.
“It doesn't have to be that way. Do you truly like being with all those people who call you their friend?” Peter speaks softly, leaning closer to Gilderoy like a plant to the sunlight.
Gilderoy sighs, and motions for the spliff back. He takes a long drag.
“My second year at Hogwarts, I was best mates with this boy.”
Gilderoy pauses, shakes his head, then keeps going.
“You must have heard some of the… rumors about me. Well, they’re true. I don’t mind telling you. I have more than a suspicion about your mates, Lupin and Black.”
Peter tries to decipher what the hell Gilderoy is talking about. He shakes his head, trying to signal he’s not sure what the other boy is on about.
Gilderoy sighs in exasperation. “You’re really going to make me say it?”
“Say what?” Peter asks, befuddled.
“For the love of- Peter. I’m gay.” Gilderoy says, then looks away.
Oh. Peter blinks.
Gilderoy continues. “I was twelve. And excited, and hopeful. So one night, I kissed him.” He pauses, swallowing hard. “And, as you might suppose, it all went to shit. He told everyone, and they called me terrible, terrible things. So, I… I told everyone he was the one who kissed me.”
He sighs. “Somehow they believed me, and I was suddenly the one saying those terrible things to him. I was more persuasive, better liked, and pretty soon I had half the year taunting him. So, he left. Switched schools in the middle of term. I never saw him again.”
He inhales deeply. “I learned something, then. To put walls up. To never let anyone in again. I suppose it’s been successful; no one picks on me now. Plus, it's for my mum. My two sisters are squibs, father’s a muggle. I need to make her proud. So, I have to be tough. Pretend like nothing bothers me, that it all goes over my head.” He looks away and rolls a pebble under his shoe.
Peter just listens soundlessly. He’s sure his eyes are filled with pity, but he can’t help it. The Ravenclaw smiles sadly at his expression.
Peter changes his mind; blue doesn't suit Gilderoy at all.
“No one suspects that the boy with so many admirers can barely form a proper spell, hmm? And who needs real friends when you’ve got love?” Gilderoy says, still looking down.
He’s taken aback, recalling that day in Charms when Gilderoy seemed so shocked when he realized his spell had worked.
“There’s a difference between being loved and having attention, Gilderoy. Believe me, I've been there.” Peter whispers.
Gilderoy looks up, his lip in between his teeth. And, oh, how he just wants to wrap the other boy up in a hug.
“You can trust me,” Peter says, wholeheartedly. “We’re friends now.” But Gilderoy now has a distant look in his eye. It looks like regret. He pulls away, grabbing his bag of Mallowsweet leaves from the ground.
Gilderoy laughs wryly. “Yes, I thought I made it clear. I usually don’t do ‘friends’. How awful it is that I've seemed to have grown rather attached to you.”
For some reason, the sentence makes his stomach flip and some of the fog in his mind clears.
Gilderoy gets up to leave and walks a few steps away from Peter.
“No,” Peter says, firmly. And Gilderoy stops in his tracks.
“Come again?” Gilderoy glances back at him, an incredulous look frozen on his face.
“I think you’re the deaf one.” Peter insists, throwing Gilderoy’s own words back on him, the ones he said that first day in Potions.
“Let me repeat myself; no. It’s like I said before, Gilderoy. When I helped you with that spell… It's what friends do. I’m listening. You opened up to me. That’s what friends do.” He repeats, firmly.
Gilderoy blinks a couple of times, but his face remains blank. Peter takes it as a good sign that he hasn’t moved any closer to the greenhouse door.
“I hate to remind you of this, but I am a Gryffindor, so it is kind of in my nature to be loyal. Just a tad.” Peter jokes, the corners of his mouth tilting upwards.
Gilderoy bites his lip again, but this time to hide a smile. Peter grins at the sight.
With a heavy sigh, Gilderoy walks back over to Peter.
“Sorry. I admit I'm not quite sure why I told you all that. Scared me, is all.”
Peter smiles reassuringly. “ ‘S okay. We’ll talk more about it later. You’re always welcome to smoke with me.”
Gilderoy nods, then covers a yawn with a hand.
“I should head to bed now. I’ll see you in the morning for potions class.” He tells Peter, reaching for the door and opening it a sliver.
Peter nods, then he furrows his eyebrows as he realizes it's terribly late and past curfew.
“How are you getting back to the Ravenclaw common room without being seen?” Peter hisses, his eyes wide.
Gidlderoy shrugs him off. “I have my ways.”
“I'm not joking!” Peter says, frantic. He had the invisibility cloak; he was safe. But how would Gilderoy sneak back without getting a week of detention? Especially when the slug club party was so soon. He might miss it because he was stuck writing lines for McGonagall, or polishing brooms with the new Quidditch coach.
Frustrated, Peter grabs his arm. “Roy, wait! What if a prefect catches you?”
Gilderoy pouts and holds up his wrist, his eyes turning big and innocent as he pretends he's been caught red-handed and Peter is the one who caught him. “Well, how was I supposed to know the time when my watch has been broken for two days? I simply must have let the time slip away from me. By the way, I must mention how stunning your eyes are.”
Peter laughs, incredulous. “You dolt.”
Gilderoy opens his mouth to respond, but closes it, smiling faintly.
“What?”
“You called me Roy.”
“Well, of course, you daft idiot! It’s what mates do. We have nicknames for each other.” Peter lets him go and shoves his shoulder, embarrassed.
Gilderoy just laughs. “What do your other Gryffindor mates call you?”
“Wormtail.” He replies honestly, without thinking.
Gilderoy gives him a strange look. “How odd. How on earth did they come up with that?”
Well, he couldn't tell him the truth now, could he? “I… can’t really explain it.” He says honestly, scratching the back of his neck.
“Call me something else,” Peter insists. “Not Wormtail.”
Gilderoy thinks for a second, humming to himself, then sighs. “I don’t know. How about Pete? Just Pete.”
Peter grins. “Sounds good to me, Roy.”
Laughing, Gilderoy shoves his shoulder. “I’m not sure I'll ever get used to that. Everyone just calls me Gilderoy.”
“Well, I’m not everyone, I suppose.”
Gilderoy’s eyes soften. “I suppose you’re not.” He agrees.
Then, he’s gone. Slipped out the door like a rare summer breeze, and Peter is alone again.
He feels warm, despite the cold. Like a plant under the shade that’s finally unfurled its leaves a little to let the golden sunlight in.
He knew smoking was always a good idea. Thank Merlin for Pandora Rosier.