Peace Frog
1 July, 1976, Summer:
Peter spent the morning of his 16th birthday in a room flooded with hair that ranged from platinum blonde to copper orange and back again. He was meant to, as was proper for a good pureblood wizard which his father had so often told him he was supposed to be, play host to his extended family, whichever of them decided to show.
There were the Prewetts, who Peter was related to one way or another on his father's side though Peter wasn't entirely sure how. A group of the Prewetts lived next door to Peter, the twins Fabian and Gideon, who Peter attended Hogwarts with briefly, Molly, their sister, before she married and moved out, and their parents. Peter had seen all of the Prewetts who lived next door at one point or another this morning. Not Molly, who was the only one Peter had particularly been looking forward to seeing. They were loud and opinionated and poor neighbors all together and because none of them had to worry about apparating at the end of the gathering, they all felt free to get properly drunk and were it anyone else's family, the house would have been drank entirely dry by now.
There were also some Pettigrews, of course, some of them Peter knew well like his uncle Sean and aunt Katherine, both chain smokers. If you talked to either of them individually, they would each warn you away from getting caught in conversation with the other because they’d never stop talking and both of them were right. There was also other family that lived far off, and Ignatiaus and Lucrectia, the latter an ex-Black turned Prewett, two of the quietest people Peter knew. He’d imagined they had married for the sole reason of being able to sneak off from parties early together. A few children ran about. The back door was open so that some of the sound could get out and the children were free to go out back and play on Peter's and his sister’s old broomsticks. Peter had strategically moved all breakable things to a height which none of them could reach and no oddball lightweight relative would drunkenly stumble into them; he’d climbed on the kitchen counter to do it. And maybe one or two people Peter could recognize but not remember. It was not a particularly large house, certainly not in comparison to the Potters or Blacks, and Peter was starting to think that if his cousins had any more children, the house would simply burst at the seams on his 17th birthday.
The funny thing about all this mess for a birthday was that none of them had mentioned his birthday at all or done anything birthday related all morning except for wishing him well when they first arrived. Peter thought family gatherings like this were just an excuse for people to eat someone else's food and drink someone else's liquor. Maybe as well a space to get loud because the truly unfortunate thing was that they all seemed to be having one big conversation which Peter could hardly follow and despite his talent for avoiding sensitive topics, his exhaustion had led to the room getting free from him.
As Peter reached the edge of his hosting skills, they had begun a row. Aunt Tessie had said some sideways thing about a cousin or other of Peter’s who had married a muggle and had a “brood of half magic children” and Fabian and Gideon had said something uncouth in response. Now, there were several Pettigrews saying there were good people on both sides of the war, several Prewetts claiming that the ministry was lying to everyone about everything, and Ignatius and Lucretia had made their typical french exit. Peter didn't blame them. In truth, he was properly jealous.
He was meant to visit the Potters later and he thought he would head over earlier than expected. Euphemia and Fleamont would understand how Peter’s family was. They always did. He would walk to Marlene’s next door and use her floo connection and hopefully none of his relatives would notice that he left and tell his parents. Godrick, his parents. Peter sighed heavily as he started for the front door, knowing his little brother was cooped up in his room upstairs, possibly tending to his sleeping mum or possibly playing alone in his room.
Lost in thought, he nearly tripped on the pack of ginger children who came flying past into the house and out to the backyard with their cousins. And there was Molly, standing at the bottom of the stoop and smiling.
Molly Prewett, now Molly Weasley, had always been kind to Peter at family gatherings. She had taken a particular interest in him over all the cousins, even Adwen who was closer to her age, which Peter imagined was on account of the fact that being the younger sister to the Prewett twins must have been quite similar to being the younger lamer friend to Sirius Black and James Potter. In fact, James and Sirius had considered the troublesome twins to be like role models in their amateur pranking days. Right now, Molly bounced a fiery haired baby boy on her hip as she came in. She sighed when she saw him and passed the boy to her husband Arthur, grabbed Peter by the shoulders, pulled him into a hug, and rocked him side to side.
“Pete!” she sighed. “My goodness, you’re getting to be almost taller than me!”
“Molly!” Peter said and hugged her back as tightly as he could. She had become so different since becoming a mother. Her time since leaving Hogwarts was only a few years but in Peter's eyes, she had aged decades. The way she dressed changed and the way she hugged Peter changed but it was nice all the same.
When they pulled back, she looked him up and down.
“Are they feeding you properly, dear?” she said, patting his shoulders and checking him everywhere.
“Yes, Mols. They feed me plenty,” Peter replied with more attitude than he had intended.
“Happy Birthday, Peter. Sixteen right?” Arthur said, reaching his empty hand out for Peter to shake.
“Oh yes, Happy Birthday, dear,” Molly cut in. Peter shook Arthur’s hand.
“Thank you,” he said, “Yes, sir. Sixteen.”
They two entered the living room and Molly immediately shut down conversations about blood purity and war, announcing that it was a celebration and that was nothing to discuss on such a happy day. Peter figured he could stick around for a while longer, at least until Molly and Arthur left.
Peter sat on the couch next to Molly and listened to the conversation carry on with new moderators, occasionally glancing at the corridor to the stairs. Once or twice there was a small thud from upstairs and Peter would snap to attention and wide-eyed stair toward it, hoping the slumped shadow of his mother that he saw the dancing silhouette of was just his imagination. Bonnie Pettigrew was a wonderful mother when she was sober but she was rarely so. It began when Arthur-Eamon, Peter’s younger brother, was a toddler and their maternal grandparents passed. She picked up a flask of fire whiskey at that funeral and never put it down. It had only gotten worse in the last 18 months since learning that Arthur-Eamon was a squib. He had told Peter on his first night back that he rarely saw her, she rarely got out of bed and when she did she was rarely sober enough to talk. Art had begun to bring her food in her bed so she didn’t starve. Peter thought this was silly and encouraged her bad habits. Peter felt dreadfully guilty about leaving Arthur-Eamon for Hogwarts every year but particularly bad about last year. It should have been his first year at Hogwarts and there was so much Peter had promised to show him. He tried to not think about it.
Peter looked back out at the room of Pettigrews when she did not appear. She had never told them why she wasn’t in contact with the rest of her family, nor had their father. All Peter knew was that they never came around and never wrote.
Patrick Pettigrew was an entirely different story. He had taken a job with the British magical embassy in America and regularly spent extended time away. He had scored Adwen an internship in New York in their Preservation of Muggle Artifacts department and she had left for there permanently. When it wasn’t the summer, it was only Peter’s mum and little brother in this quiet little house which Peter imagined felt quite big while missing all its occupants.
Molly placed a comforting hand on Peter’s shoulder and squeezed it. He looked at her and she gave him a comforting and reassuring smile. Peter took a deep breath in and out.
*
Adwen surprised him later as well. By this time his extended family had gone and Peter was sitting outside looking out at the yard and enjoying the quiet of the day. Peter hadn't seen his sister in two years. His first thought was that she had put on some weight. She looked more like a woman and less like a girl than when Peter had last seen her. She was beginning to look just like their mother. He stood up when he saw her and she hugged him politely and wished him a happy birthday.
There was a man behind her who Peter recognized from photographs she had sent tucked inside letters. She brought her muggle boyfriend to meet Peter. Some boy she met in New York. He wore a brightly coloured button up shirt with an intricate pattern on it that made Peter dizzy to stare at. Though, he had been nursing a half drank bottle of firewhiskey that he had nabbed from his mum’s nightstand when he had found her asleep upstairs and that probably wasn’t making it better. Jimmy had long curly rockstar hair that Peter thought the other Marauders would love and was built very handsomely. He felt a bit embarrassed to meet him like this, burnt out and in his wizard robes, whiskey in one hand and an unlit cigarette in the other that he had been flipping in his hand. It was probably an unfortunate state for his sister to find him in as well, considering the last time she had seen him, he was only 13. Peter shook Jimmy’s hand.
They had a polite conversation, the three of them, for a decent amount of time. Peter found the whole ordeal boring and didn’t particularly care to talk about how he believed he did on his O.W.L. examinations.
Jimmy excused himself to use the toilet and Adwen and Peter sat in silence for a moment.
“Mum is upstairs trying to drown herself in firewhiskey again,” Peter said because he knew she had been wondering, then took a short swig of the firewhiskey before capping it and setting it aside.
“Arthur?”
“With her, I think. Or in his room.”
“I’d figured,” Adwen replied. “Did she help at all?”
“Yeah. She was down here earlier, drinking a healing drought. Made food for everyone at least. Put it in the oven and never came back downstairs. I took it out myself. Some of it burnt.” The two of them talked about these things nonchalant, as if they were everyday common occurrences because for the Pettigrews, they were.
“Merlin, that devil,” Adwen mumbled under her breath and stood to go inside. Peter grabbed her wrist and tried to pull her back down.
*
“No, Ads. Please don’t. Just stay here. You yelling at her isn’t gonna sober her up,” he begged. Adwen took a deep breath and sat back down beside him. He continued, “She hasn’t talked to me all summer, really. Only short questions sometimes. She’s doing that thing where when she is sober, she feels so guilty that she won’t talk to you so it’s kinda like she’s never there.”
“She might also be hungover, Peter,” Adwen offered.
Peter hummed in response.
There was a knock at the door. Peter left Adwen there and went to see who. It was Marlene.
“Happy Birthday, Peter!” she said and threw her arms around him.
“Thanks Marls” Peter said, pulling away.
Marlene McKinnon lived next door to Peter, on the other side from the Prewetts. The McKinnon's had moved from Scotland when Peter was 10. She had 3 older brothers, the oldest two of which Peter had never met because they were of age by the time Marlene moved to England and they stayed behind in Scotland. The youngest was Adwen’s age and they had been friends as well. Peter had thought that Marlene was a peculiar little girl, with a bad attitude and a pension for being troublesome. Her and James tended to butt heads despite their obvious similarities. Peter remembered now that young Marlene was really a lot of fun. She would hop the fence into Peter's yard and they’d hit pine cones with sticks and pretend they were bludgers. Usually she wore baseball caps and dungarees when she wasn't in her Hogwarts uniform which made her seem invincible to Peter.
She stood on his stoop looking like John Lennon, shoulder length blonde hair and a pair of round sunglasses, smiling and looking down her nose at him.
“I was gonna go meet up with the lads at the Potters just now,” Peter said.
“Oh yeah?” Marlene said.
“Yeah. James and Sirius just got back from the beach yesterday and Mrs. Potter has promised me one of her famous chocolate cakes.”
On Peter’s 11th birthday, he and Marlene had ridden brooms together into town. Marlene was a better flyer. She was thin and coordinated. Peter spent all his time while flying wondering if he was about to fall off but Marlene had never made an ordeal of it. Marlene was a force to be reckoned with: she taught Peter to steal, to cliff jump, and to throw a proper punch. She was a half-blood but she had that particularly mugglebornish inclination to resort to physical and non-magical violence in a conflict.
They hid their brooms in an alleyway and snuck to the cinema. On the way out, some muggle boy that was a bit older than them had made fun of Peter’s weight and stature and Marlene had, without a second thought, run at the boy and tackled him to the ground right there on the pavement. In the end, Peter had to pull her off of him because the muggle police were running toward them. It was a bloody good birthday.
“It's a shite time to have a birthday, it is. Middle of summer holiday when everyone is out of town,” Marlene said, rolling her eyes. She still had half of her Scottish accent but only half.
“Usually is but not much this year. No one really went out of town for very long or very far. With the war on and all.” He said that last part as quietly as he could.
“Hey at least something good came out of all this.”
Peter had brought it up but truthfully, he was sick of talking about the war. It was all he had heard people talk about all summer and it was the only thing in the daily prophet, though Peter wasn't really sure why because as far as he knew, nothing warish had happened in the past few years. Right now, it just seemed to be a war of the press.
Marlene reached deep into her pocket and pulled out a box of smokes and a small piece of fabric.
“Brought you a coupla fags and a little Gryffindor tie for Munster. So she can be proper and all,” she said and dangled the little tie, which was just two pieces of yarn, orange and red, twisted together, in front of him.
“Thanks!” Peter responded, almost giggling. She would probably hate it but it was adorable nonetheless. He took both things from her.
“How’re we meant to light them without magic?” he asked. He had only ever lit cigarettes with the end of his wand. Marlene furrowed her eyebrows and made a puzzled face.
“Ask Remus when you see him. Bloke smokes a few dozen a day at this point. He’s probably got a system.” She shrugged. “Anyway Pete, I’ve got to head off. Mum’s waiting up. We're going up to Scotland to visit my nan. Happy Birthday though, enjoy your party!” She waved and skipped down the stairs and back home.
Once Marlene had gone, Peter changed out of his robes that he had been wearing to look proper in front of his pureblood family and into jeans and a ‘Wings’ t-shirt that his father had sent with Adwen for his birthday. He buckled his watch and kissed his brother, who was busy watching some show on their little square black and white television, on the top of the head. Then said his goodbyes to his sister and Jimmy and walked to the backyard to hop the McKinnon’s fence and use their spare key to get in. The Potters had in the last few months become so important in the war that their floo connection was closed to everyone who was not a member of Dumbledore’s closest allies. That included the Pettigrews but the McKinnon's elder sons were, according to Marlene, always busy with something war related. So, they had a direct line.
*
“Oh it’s from the new album! Turn this up!” Sirius said, as ‘New York City’ by T. Rex played at full blast from Peter’s little pocket radio. Adwen had given it to him as a gift earlier today because she had heard from their father how much Peter liked muggle music.
“Fixed it up all magic like so you should get every station in Britain from Hogwarts,” she had said. He had been so excited to show the Marauders who were bound to find it cool since they only renewed their music collections on Christmas and their birthdays if they were gifted copies of new albums for Sirius’ record player. Peter did like muggle music, not as much as Sirius or Remus or even James but he definitely did. Mostly, he liked Paul McCartney.
“It’s already at full volume, Pads,” James nearly shouted trying to speak over the song.
Sirius Black wore a Queen T-shirt that he had cut the sleeves off of, a pair of bootcut jeans, and a pair of black leather boots that pointed at the toe. He had taken them off and was now in his socks. Peter thought that they must have been hot to wear in the summer. He had been sitting next to Remus when Peter arrived. Actually, he had been— and really still was— sitting nearly on top of him. Remus must have forgiven him because he was looking at him and smiling. James and Sirius were both sunburnt, Sirius worse than James. The Potters had gone on a weekend holiday to some beach which Peter couldn’t remember the location of. They had offered a spot to Peter but he had turned it down. He left Arthur-Eamon alone in that house for most of the year, he owed him the few months break he could give him.
“Moony, can I have a light?” Peter said, pulling his pack out. Remus snapped his fingers in front of the cigarette and it lit.
“Godrick, how do you do that?” Peter exclaimed, pulling it out of his mouth.
“Magic,” he replied with a shrug, as nonchalant as Remus usually was, unless of course you got him angry. Peter grabbed the pillow next to him and threw it at Remus and rolled his eyes.
The four boys laughed and they danced to the songs that you could dance to and sang along to the few they knew. It was nothing like the parties in Gryffindor tower but it would do after the kind of summer it had been.
Eventually, they landed laid out across the room, Sirius and Remus collapsed on the couch, James sitting on top of the stone mantel, high above the rest of them like he was their King, and Peter with his back flat on the floor, entranced by the mural on the ceiling which was a school of fish swimming around in patterns that occasionally revealed other ocean creatures if you watched closely enough. The music was turned low and they had begun a conversation.
“My mum and dad kept me home all holiday,” Remus commented. “Hardly let me come today actually but I told them it was important.” He smiled in Peter’s direction. “Plus they trust the Potters,” he added.
“It’s scary out there, though,” Remus confessed quietly. He hardly ever talked that much at once and everyone seemed to know that they should let him do this since clearly he needed to.
“Oh come on, Remus,” Sirius chimed in, sitting up so he could look Remus in the eye. “Don't tell me you buy into all that fear mongering bollocks! This is exactly what the other side want. They want us too scared to live our lives.” He threw his arms out to the side.
“Can we please not talk about the war any more today?” Peter winged. “I’m so tired of talking about the war.”
“Well we can’t very well ignore it,” Remus chimed in. “We can’t just pretend it’s not happening.”
“For today, Moony. For my Birthday,” Peter said, turning to look Remus in the eyes. He tried to give him the most pitiful look he could muster. He watched Remus’ stubbornness melt away as he let out a short sigh that Peter knew meant he would leave it be.
“So, where is Mrs. Munster at, Wormy?” James chimed in to change the subject.
“Oh Arthur-Eamon is watching her.”
“Oh, how’s he?” It was evident from the giddy smile on James’ lips that he clearly believed he had found a good out into a better conversation.
“Still a squib,” Peter said, in the mood now to be negative. Sirius scoffed.
“Mum tried to enroll him in muggle school but apparently muggles are meant to start school at age five so he’s behind. He still can hardly read.”
“Precious thing,” Sirius said. “Truly unfortunate,” he decided with a tone of finality.
Peter nodded. He hadn’t really shown any signs of magic until getting his Hogwarts letter either. They weren’t really sure Arthur-Eamon was a squib until the day his Hogwarts letter didn’t arrive. He was a bright kid with a knack for creativity. It was really a shame that he could do no magic.
Sirius tried to light his fag on the burning edge of Remus’ and accidentally snuffed it. He had his legs laid across Remus’ lap. Of course, they bickered about it for a few moments. As the two relit, Peter turned to look at James to see if he found anything strange in the way the boys were acting but James had closed his eyes and was humming along to the radio. Peter wanted to get Remus alone to ask what had happened with Sirius as well. He had hardly seen them all summer; there was so much he had missed.
Before Peter had the chance, the front door to the house flew open and Dumbledore stepped inside followed by Marlene. Something was clearly wrong. Dumbledore was eerily calm.
“Marlene, are you okay?” James asked, hopping off the mantel. There was a cut on her cheek.
“Oh yes, Ms. McKinnon is fine, Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore answered for her. “She can tell you all about her day but I need to know exactly where your parents are.” Dumbledore was talking at a normal pace which was alarming because he usually spoke like he was never worried and he had all the time in the world to get this particular sentence out.
James took Dumbledore to Mr. Potter’s study. Peter got up to go turn off the radio which was playing “Play that Funky Music” by Wild Cherry. It felt terribly off for the mood that the room now had. Remus grabbed Marlene and walked her to sitting down on the couch.
Marlene told the Marauders that there had been an attack in Hogsmeade. She had been out with her family, window shopping, when across the street from her, a clothing store had exploded in front of her. The shop, she said, just… wasn’t there anymore, the whole thing was ash and rubble.
Then Marlene said, “It was squib owned.”
Sirius looked at Peter. James and Remus looked down. Peter looked at Marlene.
“They, whoever did it, they left a mark too.” This time she looked at Sirius. His shoulders dropped.
“Probly why Dumbdore’s gone to talk to your parents.” There were a few seconds of silence and then Marlene started again, “I just didn't want to be alone and Finlay and Gavin went off to do something war related and can't tell me what or where and Alan is staying with my nan to watch her and my parents are helping clean everything up and I just really didn't want to be in that house alone all afternoon and I’m so sorry for making your birthday about me, Peter.” She spit it out all at once.
“S’fine, Marlene. Don’t worry about me,” Peter said without a beat. What a silly idea for her to have, that her tragedy got in the way of his birthday. It had, of course, but that wasn’t her fault and she had every right to be as devastated as she was. A small bit of Peter was glad to be with Marlene on his birthday anyway.
*
There are days you live through that change the world you live in and you have absolutely no idea and then there are others, days in which you fall asleep in a world you did not wake up in, and you can feel it sitting in the room with you. These are the days in which the bravest are brought to silence over dinner.
The Marauders and Marlene and Euphemia Potter ate while the hushed chatter of Dumbledore and Fleamont Potter could be heard from the study. Peter thought it was at least disrespectful and at worst reckless to talk without a silencing charm about those kinds of things. It meant that Peter and the rest were doomed to spend dinner staring in front of themselves and thinking about the war and what exactly had changed just hours ago.
The war had come so close it had left a mark on Peter’s life now: a small no longer bleeding cut on Marlene’s cheek. Peter could not eat anything at dinner, nor could he stomach more than a few cordial bites of cake when Euphemia Potter brought it to the table and had everyone sing, including Marlene.
Marlene told them over cake that her oldest brother, Gavin, had announced his engagement that morning and everyone agreed that was good but the joy only lasted a few seconds. Marlene spent most of the night watching her plate.
After cake, Marlene and Peter left together.
“I’ll make sure she gets back alright,” Peter said.
“Make sure you watch out for Peter as well, Ms. McKinnon. The only sure thing we have in trying times like this is the love of our friends and family,” Dumbledore replied.
The McKinnon house was rarely quiet but you could hear their grandfather clock ticking when Marlene and Peter stepped out of the fireplace. Angus and Elspeth McKinnon, Marlene’s parents, were waiting for her in their kitchen when they arrived. They didn’t say much but offered Peter tea which he declined, telling them he needed to get home since his mother was probably worried, though Peter knew she was probably still asleep. Marlene walked him to the front door and said she would wait to make sure he got inside alright.
“Dumbledore’s orders,” she had joked. Peter said his goodbyes and stepped into the night, down the stairs at the stoop, and turned back to face Marlene for a moment.
“Happy birthday, Peter,” Marlene said with a smile on her lips and 1000 sorrows resting down on her eyebrows.
“Yeah,” Peter said. Marlene looked five years younger and a whole war older than she had this morning. He walked back up the stairs to meet her at the doorway and kissed her forehead. She was taller than him on the average day but she was slouched so far that it was just the right height. He pulled her into a hug and rubbed her shoulder blade. He felt her tears wet his shirt and tried to ignore it because Marlene always hated to cry in front of people.
“I love you,” she whispered into him.
“I love you too, Marls,” he replied because there simply wasn't enough time to tell her what she really meant to him but there wasn't enough time left in the world to not tell her anything at all. So, ‘I love you’ would suffice for tonight.
When Peter walked in his front door, Adwen was sat on the couch with her arm around Jimmy. She stood straight up, at first surprised, then relieved, then studying Peter’s face. He nodded to tell her he had heard the news and she sighed and dropped her shoulders.
They talked like this when they were children and the second anything else had gone wrong, they fell right back into their silent language.
“We’re gonna stay the night,” Adwen said.
“Because of Mum?” Peter asked.
“Because of Arthur.”
Peter hummed in response and started toward the bedroom.
He walked up the stairs and traced his finger in a line below the pictures of his family through the years. He didn’t think they had a single photograph or portrait anywhere of his parents. He followed summer holidays to them huddled together by the front door packed and ready to catch the Hogwarts express to them in matching pajama sets on Christmas day. Adwen stopped smiling in family photographs around age 16, when she stopped smiling at her mum all together.
It was strange to sleep in his old room over the summer. He shared it with his brother, whom lived there year round. So really, Peter felt as if he had spent the last two months living in someone else’s room, with someone else's records on someone else's record player and posters for Muggle Television shows and movies which Peter had never watched covering every wall and bedspreads in blue and purple, though Peter preferred orange and green. He stood in the doorway looking in on Arthur. He was asleep on the bottom bunk, unaware of the world and breathing up and down beneath the covers, with a Beatles record on. “All You Need is Love” was playing.
Peter sat in a chair in the corner of the room and fell asleep there, long after the record finished, curled up in his jeans with his belt and shoes still on, eyes glued onto his little brother, his wispy blonde hair sticking straight up out of the covers, trying to not think about the war.