chasing fortune and fame

Peter Pettigrew was used to being overlooked. He had made his peace with it. Well, mostly, at least. There was always that bit of resentment when a song of his and Sirius’ hit number one, and people only acknowledged Sirius’ contribution. To be fair, Sirius put a lot of effort into his songs, but more often than not, Peter was behind the writing as well as the production. With some of Sirius’ more eager fans, there was the mention of his name. He hadn’t told anyone, but for the past few years, he had been toying with the idea of releasing his own album.

He had sat in his dimly lit hotel bedrooms, his childhood kitchen, and his current apartment’s living room, writing and composing music to go with it. His back had ached for a solid four years straight because of how often he sat hunched over his guitar, writing onto a yellow legal pad (it was what had been within reach). But his own album–which he hadn’t even titled, he just had various songs partially written (and even fewer were just voice memos with his guitar in the background)–was a hobby. He had a real job, which he was headed to, not that the pelting rain was helping. 

While New York wasn’t nearly done being covered in snow, the day was oddly warm enough that it wasn’t cold enough for snow to reach the ground, but the rain it brought was freezing. He had been contacted to help work on the soundtrack of a movie adaptation based on Lily Evans’ debut novel. It was a romance book set in high school, and the executives in charge wanted new music for it. He had even roped Sirius into making a song or two with him, but he couldn’t do more because he was fairly soon going to be preoccupied with going on tour. 

Sirius was already training almost every day, but he had been for months. He had been practicing for this tour before it was even announced. He had the choreography down and the songs down. Peter had been there as he had learned because they were friends. Peter would support Sirius even when, as coworkers, he didn’t need to. Peter was even lined up to be a guest on stage a few times. But that wasn’t for another month or two, and he was late for a meeting. 

The doors flew open as he hastily pushed them, thankful to get away from the assault of the rain. He shivered slightly at the drastic change in temperature from the outside to the inside of the office building. Peter began to unwrap the scarf from around his neck as he approached the staircase. He ran up the steps as he discarded his winter clothes until he had his coat, scarf, and thinner jacket in his hands. He got cold easily, but people typically didn’t notice, well, notice him, but that meant they didn’t notice the bad things. 

Peter was average and unremarkable in appearance in every way, and he knew that. He knew that his sandy, blonde hair, average height, which he didn’t lie about–he was five foot nine inches and would humble anyone lying about their height–and he wasn’t show-stoppingly handsome in the way James and Sirius were, but it was what was inside that mattered. And Peter was as golden on the inside as his skin was on the outside. He had a brain and a heart that was valued over how his face was structured. 

People who knew what they were talking about knew how talented he was. But it wasn’t just talent. He had worked hard. He spent more time in the studio than outside of it. It had brought him friendships and fulfillment. It had brought him a six-digit deal for a little over ten songs for the romance movie of the year. A part of him wanted to shove it in the faces of his childhood bullies, but that would only show them that he still cared. Besides, he was sure at least some of them would see him on the stage with Sirius. 

He took five seconds behind the white door with an opaque middle to take a deep breath before he rested his hand on the handle and pushed the door open. He muttered a quick apology and hastily took his seat in the only empty chair. There were five people currently looking at him. All of whom he had met before. There was the music director, Sarah, whom he remembered corresponding with but wasn’t too close with. She tapped her pen against her light brown skin because there was a lull in conversation. They must have been waiting for him. 

“Peter, so nice to see you,” Sarah greeted, a warm smile on her face that made him feel less awkward about being late. 

The man in front of him, Tom, had an aggravated look on his face. Peter had never been good at guessing age, but Tom had to have been older than sixty. He had wrinkles on his face that were probably stress-induced. Peter knew how hard it was to be a producer, but that was only in the musical scene. Tom had been producing movies since Peter was born, so he knew what he was doing. Even at his age, Peter was glad to know that he wasn’t some homophobic white man, which there was an abundance of. After all, every one of Lily’s books followed two women, or girls in this case. He couldn’t imagine that Tom would have picked this movie up had he not had at least neutral thoughts on the topic. 

“Yes, how kind of you to make it,” Tom said, barely withholding his anger from his tone. 

Peter bounced his foot on the floor, trying to waste the anxious energy. “There was something wrong with the subway. We had to stop. I apologize,” he explained. 

“Do you know what was wrong? I was planning on taking the subway home,” the woman to his right spoke. 

She had her blinding red hair running down her shoulders in loose waves. Peter had been a fan of Lily Evans’ books even before he had signed the contract for this movie. They had been his preferred form of escapism when life had been hard, and he just needed a moment. When they had contacted him, Peter had jumped at the offer. He hadn’t actually had many conversations with Lily, but she had always been kind to him and never looked over his presence in a room like he wasn’t there. 

“I think there was something in the tracks, but they got it out, so don’t worry.” He smiled gently at her appreciative look and turned to the meeting. 

Another man cleared his throat. Peter moved his gaze to the director, Sam, who had his hands folded in his lap and was leaning back in his chair. He had grey hairs in his hair and beard that were a stark contrast against his almost black skin. He was one of the most famous directors in the industry, and Peter couldn’t believe he was in the same room as him. There were occasionally moments like these where he realized that he had done something with his life. 

“You’ve read the book, haven’t you?” The question was directed toward Peter, who nodded. “Then you understand how we want to make this coming-of-age very uplifting and hopeful. We need music that will match that.” Sam almost looked bored as he spoke, but Peter knew better. 

Peter nodded as another woman spoke up–Cassandra, the head writer, he assumed. She had her brunette hair in a bun that was supported by a pencil. Cassandra’s tan skin was only a few shades darker than his own, but while hers looked like she had a nice vacation, Peter’s skin often looked red because any movement would make his cheeks red. It was annoying. 

“There are a few scenes that we need more of a mellow sound for. But we’ll talk about each of the scenes we need and our ideas for them. I’ll send you a list after we leave,” Cassandra informed.

Peter listened intently as they went scene by scene through the movie. He memorized every suggestion they gave, and he asked questions. The meeting lasted a few hours, and overall, he felt like it was entirely possible to do what they wanted from him. It would push him a bit out of his comfort zone to write songs for a romance movie, but it would be a good experience, and he liked to produce pop, rock, and folk songs all the same. They went over the songs that Sirius would feature on and every other artist that Peter would work with. He wasn’t close with any of the singers on the list other than Pandora, whom he was friends with. 

Sam and Tom hastily left after the meeting had been concluded. Peter didn’t know where they were rushing off to, and he might have asked had Cassandra and Sarah not been almost a step behind them, talking about where to eat dinner. This left him and Lily in an empty room. He had never been the best at social interaction.

“So, Peter, do you have any dinner plans?” Lily asked, pulling on a white winter hat with a fuzzy pompom on top.

Shocked at her question, Peter hesitated for a moment, imagining what it would be like to have dinner with Lily Evans. She seemed nice enough, but he really didn’t feel like talking about work anymore. It would have been nice to get to know someone working on the movie with him. It would have made the experience more enjoyable, and he was free. 

“Not really,” he replied as he pulled his jackets on. 

She smiled, satisfied. “I know this great Chinese place nearby. Would you like to come along? I promise we don’t have to work,” she vowed, and well, that eased his concerns. 

He nodded his head with a gentle look on his face. “I’d love to, Lily.” 

With a grin on Lily’s face, they put on the rest of their winter clothing and began to move out of the building. It was already dark outside when they stepped out, but at least it wasn’t raining anymore. They made polite conversation as Lily led them to the Chinese restaurant she had praised so highly. Peter was just about to ask how far it really was after they had been walking for what had to have been at least twenty minutes by the time Lily stopped at a small restaurant that Peter could see into by the large windows. 

Pushing the door, they made their way into the heating. Lily walked to a table so confidently that Peter figured she was a regular here. It was tucked toward the back, pressed against the window, where you could see the people passing by without a care in the world about who was watching them. They set their winter clothing next to their chairs, but Peter kept his thinner jacket on because he was still a little cold. He was either too hot or too cold at a time; there was never an in-between. 

“I come here sometimes to write,” Lily said, settling into the chair. 

Peter laughed slightly, anticipating her answer. “How often is sometimes?” 

She looked amused, like she knew that he already knew her answer. He had learned to read people at a very young age. “At least a couple times a week. It’s so easy to get stuck in my apartment when I’m writing, and there’s always this light chatter here. I swear I write better when people are moving by me,” she admitted. 

“Yeah, I get it. I fully believe that I make better music at night. It’s probably placebo, but whatever works.” 

The waitress came to their table and handed them menus. He gave his drink order and only got about twenty seconds to look at the menu before Lily had already ordered her drink and meal. The waitress looked at him expectantly like she was waiting for him to know what he wanted as well. 

Panicked, Peter ordered what his eyes fell on first, which happened to be, “Orange chicken on rice.” He handed back his menu and figured that he could have ordered something much worse. Besides, he liked orange chicken. “So how did you start writing?” he asked, attempting to start up the conversation once more. 

“Well, I would actually send one of my friends these three-paragraph short stories in grade school, and she got so fed up with it that she told me to just write a book. In hindsight, I’m pretty sure she was joking, but I took it seriously, and by the time I was graduating middle school, I had my first book written. It took me a good few more years to get published, but by that point, I loved writing too much to give it up for anything else. How’d you get your start in music?” Lily’s widened anytime she spoke about something she was passionate about, and the rate at which she spoke increased by twofold, but Peter liked it. He liked seeing people be passionate about things. 

Peter thought about it for a moment before responding. It had been a while since someone had asked him that question. “I was in my school’s band, and I hated almost every piece of music we played. They always made us learn those hundred-year-old songs that no one likes to hear. I started experimenting with making my own melodies for a couple years, and I really only shared them with my friend James, who I grew up with. We were neighbors, and our families became friends fairly early in elementary school. 

“I think it was junior year when our families went to London on a trip together. We snuck away one night to go meet James’ close friend, and that’s how I met Sirius. We started writing our first song together that night, but it was only when I was in my first year of college that Sirius moved to New York and called me. We produced his second album, and when it became really successful, I dropped out of college and started working with him full time,” he recounted, and while taking a breath, Lily interrupted him. 

“You mean Sirius Black?” she asked, and he cursed himself. She hadn’t know. He shouldn’t have said anything, but it was too late now. 

“Yeah,” he confirmed grimly. 

“I loved the production on that album. I didn’t know it was you. Did you help with the lyrics, too?” She was clearly excited, and well, she was talking about Peter’s contribution, which felt good. 

“I did a bit.” 

She shook her head, almost in disbelief. “You are a genius…” she trailed off. “Sorry, go on.” 

In a much better mood now, Peter did. “It was through the success of that album and being credited on so many songs that I started meeting other artists and working with them, too. It all led up to this now, I guess.”

“Did you ever think about making your own music?” It was a question no one had asked him, and there was this strange feeling in his gut that told him he could tell Lily about it. There was just something about her that made you trust her with secrets you wouldn’t tell your best friends. 

He was quiet for a moment, and he figured that Lily was trustworthy enough as a person. Besides, if he was really going to go through with it, then people would hear about it anyway. “I have, yeah. I’ll make original music for the movie, but I’ve been making my own album,” he confessed, his voice quieter than the voice of a confident person. 

She smiled kindly. “I’m one hundred percent sure that it will be the album of the century. I’ll put every song on my writing playlists. You’ll get hundreds of thousands of streams,” she promised, and it was a strange feeling to get so much support from an almost stranger. 

The waitress set their drinks down in front of them first, then thirty seconds later came back with their food. Peter decided that he hadn’t made a mistake ordering the orange chicken because it looked absolutely marvelous, and he couldn’t really think of anything he wanted more at that moment. They ate their respective meals in almost silence, which he enjoyed. It wasn’t the awkward type of silence you usually got thrown into with new people. 

Once they had finished, Lily suggested that they go get dessert at an ice cream parlor, even though it was winter. She swore by ice cream year-round, so Peter eventually gave in. They began their trek and continued their conversation from before, with the sole intention of getting to know one another. 

“So do you have any siblings?” Peter asked after Lily had finished her ramblings about how she also drank hot chocolate in the middle of the summer because it didn’t matter how cold it was outside, but rather inside. 

She sighed, like she preferred not to talk about it, but she didn’t give Peter enough time to retract the question before she began speaking. “I have a sister who absolutely despises my guts. I’m pretty sure she threw a party when I moved away from home. She’s always been a stickler for the rules, and we were raised pretty religious. Being a lesbian is against the rules. Although, I’m not entirely sure if she’s actually homophobic or if she just wants to please our parents,” Lily confessed. 

Peter stared at the side walk in front of him. “So you don’t go back home often?” 

“Not much of a home to go back to. My parents died half a decade ago, and last I heard, Petunia was getting married. But I have found family. Remus got me through a lot of it,” she explained, and Peter felt the urge to hug her, but he was sure they weren’t that close yet. 

He furrowed his eyebrows and looked back at Lily. He saw that look a person typically had when they didn’t want to continue talking about the same subject. “You mean Remus Lupin?” he asked, recalling how Sirius had started writing songs about his books. They were good, too. Almost made him decide to give the books a go. 

“Yeah, he’s my best friend,” she confirmed, a suspicious look on her face that he figured he had had when she had asked about Sirius. 

“Sirius has been on about his books for ages. It’s the only thing he’ll talk about,” Peter complained fondly. 

Lily chuckled sweetly. “I’ll be sure to tell Remus that, but I promise, he won’t believe it.” 

Peter laughed at that, then looked up at the lights of New York. There was something just so poetic about the lights, especially when you had someone with you to experience them. It made him want to write, and he figured if he did, Lily would have been more than happy to hear the song.