Fernando
Fall Term: 1976, Sixth Year:
It was an obnoxiously long note really. Written in shorthand but still several lines long. Two different sets of parentheses. He really hadn’t needed to sign his name. Even without Peter knowing about the book club beforehand, anyone who had ever met Gilderoy would have known it was his handiwork.
The Novel was “The Talented Mr. Ripley” and it was dreadfully long in Peter's eyes but he tried to read it. He really did. And it was interesting, too, when he brought himself to care. About some psychopathic genius who essentially stalks a guy with his dad’s permission. But Peter found himself, instead, reading and rereading the note that Gilderoy wrote him over and over, running his fingers over the quill strokes. He started to keep it in his pocket when he realized he had been thinking of Gilderoy in June, with his long grown out hair sticking to the back of his neck, his face pink in the sunlight when he was meant to be paying attention to his arithmancy lecture, imagining that keeping it with him would help him focus though it didn’t.
In the afternoons, Peter would go back and forth. Ripley and then Gilderoy. Peter wasn’t entirely sure whether Ripley’s obsession with Dickie was somewhat queer, albeit disturbing, or if it was just Peter’s own projection but it still made him think of James. Then he'd pull the note out of his pocket and rub his forefinger, the crooked almost broken one, over the X Gilderoy had signed the note with. By Saturday, he had the note memorized and there was a permanent and tearing crease in the parchment where he had folded it to fit into his watch pocket.
On Monday night, Peter was up late watching the waxing moon out his window and trying to read by the light it gave off, which was nearly futile now. Munster tried to take a bite out from the corner of the novel and Peter had to rip it away from her. He closed the book and curled his arms around it and tried to picture Gilderoy’s voice saying “Missed you, Pettigrew” but it had been so long since he had heard it, he couldn’t remember what Gilderoy’s voice actually sounded like and the voice in his head was closer to Sirius or maybe James. It was thoroughly cruel from top to bottom, that note and the silence that came after.
*
The first full moon of term fell about a week in and Peter had begun to worry that it had been so long since he transformed, he would have lost the skill all together so he resolved himself to practice the night before out by the black lake. He considered this a likely more worthwhile thing than sitting and thinking about Gilderoy as was his new habit.
There was a small bite in the air which made Peter realize he had missed the summer slipping away. September was equally merciful as it was daunting and it was a lovely place to be in the nighttime, still and beautiful. He was not meant to be out that late but being an unregistered animagus did have its perks.
Peter walked out to the water after dinner, before curfew when no one would question his intentions and if they did, he had already decided he would say he was headed to the greenhouses, to check on a herbology project. He did not risk trying to leave the dormitories after curfew, not when he was still uncertain he would be able to transform into a rat. The last thing Peter needed was to make a fool of himself in front of his friends.
The kind of tranquility that fell over the castle grounds, silenced of children’s teasing or laughter, where the milky way was bright enough you could see its reflection on the water, it was a crime in Peter's eyes to rob anyone of the right to see it. As the sunset faded out over the horizon, Peter let his eyes adjust to the darkness and stopped for a moment, so overcome by the sudden peace that he was unable to practice.
Peter sat on the grass, let himself drop down at whatever speed gravity took him and hugged his knees. He started going over star charts in his head. Nearly the entire Black family was visible, Regulus and Andromeda and Sirius. He searched for the distinct shape of Hercules and the Serpent. Peter felt that he had sufficiently revised enough to make up for whatever astronomy he forgot over holiday. It was more than a relief to be back.
Just then, something moved up there, just a small flash. Peter waited. Then, a few minutes later, another. It was a skill to sit so still and watch so patiently and one that Peter prided himself in. James and Sirius would have been bored by now and ran off. Moony may have stayed but he didn't feel as connected to astronomy as Peter.
One of the flashes looked as if they had hit Mars, though Peter knew it was too far away for that. And then one hit right into the head of Aries. Then Regulus and then Sirius. Peter lifted his finger and tried to trace the shape of Aries across the whole Southeast quarter of the sky. He always thought it took up far more room than it was due but it was beautiful and grand nonetheless.
Meteor showers were considered to be a bad omen in the old wizarding world but Peter wasn’t that worried. He was too busy adoring the way the stars never watched him back. The stars never stared at him in the corridors and never snickered when he couldn’t answer when he was called on in potions. The sky had no idea that Peter’s brother was a squib or that his father had run off to America and they had no opinions on it. They were just a beautiful thing that Peter had the privilege to behold, something he could share with just himself because no one else seemed to look at them the way he did.
Peter stood eventually, feeling his legs waking back up and held his breath as he tried to remember what falling into his animagus form felt like.
*
After the night of the full moon, the boys transformed back in the shrieking shack one by one: Remus first, Sirius Last. It had been a tall task to convince Moony back into the shack after his first moon back in the forest. Sirius and James had spent the night corralling him, Prongs by pushing with his antlers and Padfoot by barking incessantly enough to convince the wolf to chase him and play games. Other than that, the night had been utterly uneventful and comfortingly habitual. And Moony was Remus again, holding himself under the thin blanket left for him by Madame Pomphrey and moaning in pain.
Peter, James, and Sirius snuck back to the castle and left Remus there. It always made Peter feel quite bad to leave a friend like that but what else could you do? There was a helplessness to Remus’ entire furry little problem that made Peter wish he was a better wizard and could help him. And worse, was that the wolf seemed to feel no pain at all, only Remus with his rapidly aging 16 year old body.
The three went back to the dorm and laid down, preparing to bunk off for the day. They threw open the door to the dormitory and all three piled into their beds still dressed. Sirius was snoring in seconds.
James woke them around lunchtime. Peter woke to him shaking his shoulder and saying, “Come on, mate. Up you come. Can’t bunk off all day, can we?” Peter groaned.
“How are you always so chipper, Prongs?” he asked, hoping his cynical tone was evident.
James shook his head with a smile as he pulled on his shirt and did not answer. Peter could tell he had just gotten out of the shower from the steam that filled the room and his wet hair.
“Cause Potter is a freak of nature that doesn’t need any sleep, that’s how,” Sirius said, still laying on his stomach in his bed but now having turned his face sideways so he could speak.
Peter and Sirius had showered and they were on their way to lunch and then the hospital wing to meet Remus, as was their tradition after full moons, when the state of the Gryffindor common room stopped them in their tracks. Peter saw Marlene immediately and recognized the look, something hung dark over her expression the same way it had on the Potters’ doorstep on Peter’s birthday. Lily was resting her chin on Mary’s shoulder and the two were staring at a copy of the daily prophet. Not reading, just looking. Peter stopped in the archway at the bottom of the steps and considered turning back around and going to sleep, dealing with whatever it was later but Sirius was behind him and Peter didn’t fancy the idea of pushing past him.
He didn't ask what had happened, just started up walking again, feeling his heartbeat quicken with the pace of his stride. And Peter walked right out of the common room and toward the great hall. He picked up little bits of discussion involuntarily from the students he passed around him, unable to not listen in.
Something about London. Something about werewolves. Someone's uncle or cousins’ anecdote they had been contacted about.
The Great Hall itself was no safe haven from the events of the night. In fact, it may as well have been a newsroom. Hardly any students sat eating. Everyone was about and everyone was talking. Some of the older Slytherin students hung their heads particularly low and others held their chin particularly high.
Peter tried to think about anything else, even took his book out to read, even the note Gilderoy had left but nothing could keep him from overhearing. There had been an incident last night in London. A series of werewolf attacks across the city, mostly on half magical families. Dark marks above every affected house. An undisclosed number of deaths. At least three people had been bitten.
Peter’s first thought was that there would certainly no longer be trips to Hogsmeade this term, if there was any chance of that returning before, which he felt properly bad about when he looked at the spot at the table that Remus usually sat at. His second thought was when he realized the event over the summer had not been solitary and that the world would be different now. Escapes from bad news would be harder and harder to come by.
*
After lunch, Peter sat across from Sirius as James broke the news to Remus. Sirius was staring at his feet. He had a tendency to look like a child in timeout when things went wrong.
“They're talking about putting stricter rules in place. For lycanthropes,” James said, twiddling his thumbs.
Remus nodded, dazed and dreary. He laid suspiciously still, like a corpse on the bed.
“Some people are suggesting werewolf housing, living in at St Mungo's long term.” Every word he said was slow and careful, like one grammatical misstep would kill Remus outright.
“But that's just a couple people, really, that's not gonna happen. I’m sure.” Sirius cut in, less scared of Remus’ fragility.
“Yeah,” James agreed. “I’m not saying they're gonna do that. Cause they're not, Remus. Just,” he took a long pause and leaned toward Remus. “You should know people are saying things like that.”
Peter kept to himself, because he had nothing to say to Remus that would make any of this one bit better.
*
Dinner was as dreadfully lonely an affair as lunch. Mcgonnigal approached their table after the other boys had already left and informed Peter that Dumbledore had asked to see him in his study after he finished eating. Remus was nowhere to be found at dinner and Peter had assumed he was asleep in the dorm so Sirius and James had left with extra food to bring to him.
“I hope you haven't gotten into any trouble, Mr. Pettigrew,” Mcgonnigal said, looking down her nose at him.
“No ma'am. Haven't given James or Sirius enough time yet for it to be trouble,” Peter said, knowing that Sirius and James were currently scheming in their dormitory over a prank they hoped would lift Remus’ spirits.
“Well with you boys I never know,” she said, turning over her shoulder and walking off.
Right as Peter arrived at the entrance to Dumbledore’s office, Remus came storming out with a look of determination on his face. And a trace of sorrow and maybe if you looked past that tough guard dog maturity he always put on, a small glimpse of fear. His eyes looked red and his skin still hung a bit strangely like it did the day after a transformation.
“Everything alright, Lu?” Peter said, standing in front of Remus. “I thought you were back at the tower.”
“Yeah, Peter. I’m gonna be just fine, like always,” Remus said, confident and quiet as he pushed past Peter and started down the corridor before Peter could ask anything else, leaving him alone there. Peter had been entirely unsure of why he had been called to the office earlier but now he felt even less sure, if that was possible.
He didn't like entering things blindly but here he was. He walked up the stairs to Dumbledore's office. When he stepped in, Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk with his hand in a bowl of sweets. He grabbed one and inspected it then put it in his mouth and looked up at Peter.
“Good evening, Headmaster,” Peter said. He had never spoken alone with Dumbledore before and suddenly found the headmaster’s bubbly attitude quite alarming.
“Can you keep a secret Peter?” Dumbledore said. There was a youthful glimmer in his eye like a teen boy.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. I imagined. As can I.”
Dumbledore motioned at the chair on the other side of his desk and Peter sat down. Dumbledore took a deep breath and leaned forward.
“Sweet?” he asked. It sort of came out of nowhere. Peter had been expecting the old man to tell him something horrifying just now but ‘sweet?’ was apparently all.
“No, thank you,” Peter replied warily. Dumbledore leaned back in his chair again.
“Professor Mcgonnigal tells me you may have interest in entering the war after your time at Hogwarts. Is this correct?”
“Yes, sir.” Peter said. He had mentioned that to her last year in a meeting about his future, somewhat just as a way to not tell her that he really had no idea what he wanted to do after leaving Hogwarts. Dumbledore got an uncharacteristically stern expression on.
“I want you to know that everything I tell you for the rest of your life does not leave the room in which I tell you it in. Understand?” Peter nodded vigorously and then suddenly he was back to normal Dumbledore, chipper and whimsical as ever.
“Now, Mr. Pettigrew. It is my understanding that you are a fairly experienced secret keeper.”
“Oh, I guess so, sir.”
“Well I am as well, if you’d like to know.” Then there was a short silence and a twinkle in Dumbledore’s eye. “Would you like to learn a secret today, Peter?”
Dumbledore hardly ever called a student by their first name. He had a giddy kiddish smile painted on his face and tossed a sweet up and caught it in his mouth.
Peter rubbed the way his knuckle stuck out wrong on his bad finger inside his pocket. He had a hard time writing with a quill now because he couldn't hold it the same way he used to. And utterly inappropriately his mind wandered to Gilderoy and his bite. He thought about how he would check the next time he saw Gilderoy to see if it was still there or had healed. He felt with the tip of his finger, there in his pocket was his note from Gilderoy. Yes, he would see him again.
“Sure,” he told Dumbledore. The sound of his own voice surprised him as it was lower than he remembered it ever being before.
“There’s not a thing that happens in this castle that I don't know about. Hardly a thing in the ministry at all.” Dumbledore tapped his temple.
“Well I knew that, Headmaster,” Peter replied, relieved.
“No. No…. Really. Not just the silly little teacher way. I’m sure every authority figure you’ve ever met has told you they have eyes on the back of their head but I really mean it.” He smirked and popped another sweet in his mouth. “Like, for instance, I know that you and your friends are illegal animagi.” As he said this, he sat back in his chair and twisted himself back and forth. It was sort of casually cruel like the way a brother acts when he threatens to tell your parents that you snuck out last night.
Peter panicked. He said nothing at all as Dumbledore stared into him. He thought of a thousand excuses but didn’t know how much Dumbledore knew.
“Good. That's good. That's very good,” Dumbledore said, nodding. He stood.
“Well, Wormtail.” He winked, subtly and Peter wondered if he had made it up inside his head. “You should know that there are a million magical ways to acquire knowledge, some more ethical than others. And all good acceptable ways to do so, I have done so. But still, there are,” he looked up like the ceiling would provide him the word he was trying to think of. “Blind-spots,” he finished. “I'm in the market for an eavesdropper. Someone who can go unnoticed. A wizard of intellect who can be trusted with important knowledge.” He made eye contact with Peter. “Know any wizard with those qualities?”
Peter thought for a moment. Clearly the old man meant him. It wasn’t a terrible misfire. Peter fancied himself the only Gryffindor in his year who was at all decent at eavesdropping and considering it a worthwhile and enjoyable hobby. And he could keep a secret. Certainly he didn’t blurt them out to win an argument the way Sirius did.
“Remus,” he replied, maybe because it felt more correct than saying himself, or maybe because he wanted to hear more of the old man’s pitch before agreeing to whatever Dumbledore was asking. Dumbledore looked off into the distance and nodded slightly.
“Oh. Mr. Lupin will be far too busy, I’m afraid. He has a different job already. You like chess, yes?” he turned to Peter with his eyebrows raised.
“Yes, sir.”
“Yes. Well, see, Mr. Lupin is already a knight. I could not ask him to also be a rook. Understand?” Peter nodded. “Besides, Remus has some unique quirks that make him a dangerous choice for the spot. I’m certain that I don’t have to elaborate. Personally, I was thinking: you?”
Peter did not respond, just met Dumbledore’s eyes. Whatever he was asking was surely dangerous and far above Peter’s magical abilities but he couldn’t just say, ‘No you’ve got the wrong guy. I’m too bad of a wizard.’ He thought for a second that he could but that seemed like a poor idea to tell your teacher so he just sat in silence.
“It's your decision of course. If you wish to accept, you’ll need to be serious about your war convictions,” Dumbledore continued. Then he stood up and motioned toward the door.
“Thank you, Mr. Pettigrew. I'll let you think it over. Return to my office when you decide to accept the offer. Do not tell anyone what I asked and do not tell when you return, where you are going or why.”
“Yes, sir. Goodnight, sir,” Peter said, standing and heading toward the door, eager to be anywhere but here to process whatever he had just been told.
“Mr. Pettigrew,” Dumbledore started, as calm and jolly as he always was. “I should caution you that if you lie to me, I will know. Because I have my ways.” He said it with a smile on his lips.
Peter went immediately back to his dormitory as it was late in the night by then. He panicked all the way back to bed. He heard Remus exit his bed in the night and walk past Peter toward either Sirius or James and a silencing charm go over whichever bunk he had entered. There wasn’t a single moment of snoring before Peter fell asleep and dreamed of a boat in the mediterranean in the middle of a storm, rocking back and forth and back and forth and back.
*
The following morning, Peter realized that the second Friday of the term arrived quicker than he had anticipated and he had hardly read any of “The Talented Mr. Ripley”. Peter thought about not going to book club, better to disappoint Gilderoy and Pandora than to make a fool of himself. He hated new places. He wished there was a plan or that he had Remus with him. Remus was so good at those things. Peter had spent an entire Christmas party at the Potters’ hanging off Remus’ arm without even realizing it was Remus’ first time meeting the Potters.
At breakfast, Peter was exhausted from some of the worst sleep of his life thinking about Dumbledore and all that he knew about him wondering if he knew his worst secrets, wondering if it was really an option for him to refuse Dumbledore's request. Wondering if the use of that nickname was to gain his trust or a threat.
“Peter, Peter, Peter. I have a question for you,” Gilderoy said, standing right in front of him.
Peter hadn't even noticed him walk up, he had been so deep in thought and panic. Sirius and James were back still dressing after early morning practice and Remus was probably still in his bed reading as he had been for all of his waking moments since Dumbledore's office. Peter felt he had eaten every meal alone all week.
“Shoot,” Peter replied, looking at Gilderoy before taking a large sip of pumpkin juice, so that if he didn't have an answer he would have a little while longer to think without looking it.
“You're joining us tonight right?”
“Oh uh,” Peter started before taking another sip to think of a good excuse out. Gilderoy rolled his eyes dramatically.
“You are.” He said and it was not a question. He crossed one foot over the other and leaned over the table, resting on his elbows and thumping his fingers against his chin, one at a time. Yes, the bite mark was still there. Scared over but visible if you knew to look. “Okay. So meet me outside of the common room and I’ll let you in and technically we're gonna finish up after curfew so if you need to stay in our dorm for the night, you can. Or, you can sneak back. Your choice.”
Peter was so exhausted he could hardly think of a thing to say so he just watched Gilderoy.
“Your robes fit you well this year,” Gilderoy said.
“What?” Peter replied.
“You’ve just kinda grown into them. That’s all I mean.”
“Thanks.”
“And you grew your hair out.”
“Oh, just didn't really have time to cut it.”
“Well,” Gilderoy ran his hands through his own hair as he stood up. “Looks nice.” He smiled that Gilderoy smile.
And then just as quickly as he had appeared he was gone and once again, it was just Peter and his breakfast and his worries.
*
Peter waited, flipping the book over and over in his hands outside the Ravenclaw common room. He sat then stood then sat again. He looked down the corridor and considered going back. He thought for a moment that he could always turn into a rat last minute and run off if Gilderoy showed up and Peter couldn't handle it. It was worse than just a new place with new people. Peter had come underprepared. He thumbed the page where he had stopped reading. It was only about a fourth of the way through the book. Then he fiddled with the note from Gilderoy in his pocket. Godrick, this was stupid and he didn't know why he did it. Well, he would do this. He would do this thing and spend one night not thinking about the war. It would be good for him, he figured. Just then, Gilderoy Lockhart burst from the common room entrance in a bright blue button down, long white trousers, and shiny white shoes with silver detailing.
“Peter, old man!” He threw his arm around Peter. “How was your summer?”
“Long and lonely,” Peter replied, rolling his eyes.
Gilderoy threw his head back laughing.
“An optimist this one,” he said to a girl who was leaned against the doorway with her arms crossed. She seemed amused. “Yeah me as well. My mum and sisters live in America at the moment. So I spent the summer out there.”
“That sounds like fun,” Peter said, trying desperately to survive the conversation while Gilderoy’s shirt was half unbuttoned and his chest was against the back of Peter’s shoulder.
“Yeah somewhat but it’s America. Sunny little spot, though. Burned myself all over,” he said as the three entered.
The room was cold. The Gryffindor common room hardly ever was. And Peter immediately noticed that he was improperly dressed. The group was entirely in some kind of muggle clothes, except Peter who was in his Gryffindor robes and a Slytherin boy who looked just like Pandora and Regulus Black who were in conversation with Pandora in French.
Sometimes Peter forgot that Sirius spoke French because he never heard him speak it. Once when they were in 2nd year, he'd heard him have a private French conversation with Regulus but that was the last time.
Pandora had a persistent frown on her face and was sat on a table with her arms crossed. Peter presumed the boy arguing with her was her twin brother, since he knew she had one and they looked so alike.
He started, "Oh come off it, Dora. We won't interrupt. You can all play your game of muggle dress up and Junior and I will just watch.”
"Let's just go, Evan," said Regulus over Evan’s shoulder, and then the three of them began speaking in French to one another again.
Gilderoy guided Peter over to an empty set of chairs, handed Peter a goblet of something and said, "Don't worry about them. They'll work it out, they always do."
“You still have my quill set I got for my birthday," Pandora said, suddenly back in English.
"I ASKED IF I COULD BORROW IT AND YOU SAID YES!" Evan cut in over top of her.
Behind them, Barty Crouch was shuffling a deck of cards and Peter looked closer to see that his hands were hovering slightly off of the deck. He was trying to shuffle them with magic. Peter didn't know Barty well, only that Sirius did not like him but Sirius rarely liked someone his brother had befriended. Barty looked oddly calm in the conflict, like it was commonplace.
"You're not even allowed in here, this isn't your common room!" Pandora said.
"Gryffindor boy is in here."
Peter felt like he was the new cowboy in town in some spaghetti western and had managed to step on the saloon’s only creaky floorboard. As all eyes in the room landed on him, everything in Peter's head told him to turn and run as fast as he could back to Gryffindor tower but instead he gave a curt wave.
Regulus gave him a very recognizably pureblooded sneer. Something that reminded Peter that this was not their first meeting. Their first meeting had been on Regulus' first train ride to Hogwarts which Regulus hadn't said a word all through, just nodded when introduced to people by Sirius and kept to himself. He seemed witty and reserved and always kept his jaw and shoulders in a very posh sort of way. Still, he was more meek than anything, a tiny little thing. Every time after that, their interactions had been unpleasant, usually with Sirius in the middle of them.
“He’s Gilly’s plus one, that’s why. And Peter is wonderful and isn’t gonna snicker at us from the corner,” Pandora said with her hands on her hips.
“I’m Junior’s plus one. Aren’t I, Barty?” Barty did not even look up and the two went back to arguing in French, with Pandora pushing her twin toward the door.
While they worked that out, Gilderoy gave Peter the run down of the group: Cassiopeia Lannum, the girl who had met Peter outside with Gilderoy, was a 5th year metamorphmagus who had a pair of calico cat ears which she grew out of her head. Gilderoy said she was quiet but ‘had her moments’— whatever that meant— and it was her who started the club and picked the books. Her parents were muggle librarians. Emmeline Vance was there, who was in Peter’s year but had managed to make friends in the year below her. Peter had advanced arithmancy with her this term and knew her decently well.
Beside them, Gilderoy said, was a 2nd year, Sybil Trewlany. She had thick glasses that gave her bug eyes and hair that stuck out in every direction and a cat ear headband that squished down a line of hair across her head. Sometimes she flicked her wand up to make them move. She had been the only first year girl in Ravenclaw last year and had no roommate. Being peculiar as she was, Sybil hadn't had an easy time making friends. So, Gilderoy said, they had ‘adopted her’ as one of their own.
Apparently, her mother was a seer which was probably a part of the reason for the bullying she had endured. People tended to think that seers were no better than muggle magicians. Besides them, there was Barty and Pandora and Gilderoy, who Peter already knew. And Gilderoy informed him that Evan and Regulus were not a part of the club but they did get a kick out of being a menace, so they were there often.
“What’s this music?” Peter asked, when Gilderoy was done explaining.
“It’s Elton John,” Gilderoy said.
“Who?”
“Peter, I HAVE to teach you about good music.” Peter remembered Sirius saying this exact thing when they were 11 about T.Rex or the Talking Heads or something like it. None of his friends had ever told him about whatever was on now, even the girls who mainly liked disco. This wasn’t disco and it wasn’t rock either, or maybe it was and just wasn’t a kind Peter had heard. It wasn’t terribly far off from Paul McCartney, though it certainly wasn’t the same either. Peter thought he would never know enough about muggle culture to keep up with any one of his friends.
At least he had friends, though. At least there was muggle music and Gilderoy in muggle clothes and book clubs to sit silently through. And Gilderoy was leaning close to him. Not close enough to raise an alarm with anyone else in the room but close enough that Peter realized he smelled quite good, sort of musky but clean. Anything but thinking about the war to focus on.