Blessings

Peter slept ... and dreamed.

*

"No, d-d-don't hurt her!"

"Peter, help me!"

"She m-means nothing to you!"

"Choose, boy! Her life or yours?"

"Peter!"

"L-l-let her go!"

"Only if you come to me."

The room twisted, and the blond boy fell to his knees. The devil laughed and turned the wheel again, and the woman in its spokes screamed again.

"Peter!"

The boy blinked, coming to himself, strength returning. "N-no," he stammered, and took a breath when he saw that his voice went unheard. He stood and moved to stand in between his mother and the monster, and spoke again, this time clearly and without a trace of fear. "No. You will not hurt her. Kill me if you need to take a life!"

The Devil laughed, and raised his hand. "Avada Kedavra!" he shouted, and Peter closed his eyes, anticipating the green flash, nearly welcoming it, waiting for his thoughts to cease.

Only there was a rumble, and Peter felt magic course through his body. The entire room shook like an earthquake, and Peter could hear bits of stone from the ceiling fall to the floor. There was a crack of thunder, and then it faded away to silence.

Am I dead? thought Peter, but when he realized that his mother was crying in the distance, he opened his eyes. The room was filled with smoke and ash, and Peter could hear his mother moaning somewhere near him. He coughed, and felt his way to the wheel, where he untied his mother from the spokes.

"Peter," she said, falling into his arms.

Peter caught her, and fell to the ground again, amazed to discover that he was trembling more now than she did. He felt a bit of sweat trickle down his cheek, and reached to brush it away. His fingertips came away red with blood, and then he felt his forehead stinging.

"Mum," he said shakily, his bravado forgotten. "It's safe now. It's safe...

"He's gone."

*

"I christen thee Harry James Potter," intoned the priest, and beside him, Peter heard Remus chuckle.

"James couldn't help his ego getting in the way," whispered the brown haired man, and Peter grinned.

"We would have done the same, given the chance," he whispered back - as always, careful to consider his words before speaking. Though he'd effectively lost his stammer along with the defeat of the Dark Lord, Peter still was careful when speaking in public, always afraid that the old disability would return.

"Oh, no doubt. But we're the confirmed bachelors, remember," chided Remus, and Peter snorted.

"By choice, and not to the liking of the females around us," said Peter, eyeing the girls on the other side of the church, who were all looking at him with stars in their eyes, hoping to catch his attention. "Besides, having James and Sirius both married and starting families - we have to remain carefree unattached Marauder bachelors, lest our reputations fade away."

Remus elbowed him. "The Man Who Lived being unattached!" he kidded. "Unthinkable! Preposterous! You're a disgrace, Wormtail, and you love it."

Peter grinned and didn't answer. He had caught Lily glaring at him from the altar and knew that if he kept talking, she might hex him, priest or no priest.

It wasn't until after the service that she was able to make her way over to him.

"I've a friend who wants to meet you, Peter," she coaxed, taking his arm. "She read your last piece in the Prophet and she'd love to chat about it - "

"Lily, no!" groaned Peter. "Not another one."

"Oh, Peter, what have you to be afraid of? You're the toast of the wizarding world, you've a good job and a steady income. You're losing your hair but you're still handsome; you've even conquered the stutter you used to have!"

"Why do you have to set me up with every girl in England?"

"Because you need someone to take care of you," said Lily promptly.

"I've got mother."

"And it's far from healthy for a grown man to live with his mum," said Lily, squeezing Peter's arm as she pulled him through the crowd. He yelped and shook his arm free, and Lily put her hands on her hips. "What's the matter?"

"Cat scratched me," he explained, and Lily pulled his sleeve back, examining his left forearm. The soft flesh on the inside of the arm was white and unmarked save for the claw marks across it.

"This is what I mean," she scolded him, taking her wand out of her pocket. "You need someone to take care of you, Peter. I can't be fixing all your scrapes or bruises your whole life!" She touched his arm with her wand, muttering the incantation, and the welts disappeared.

"Thanks, Lily," said Peter, taking his arm and rubbing the clear skin. "What would I do without you?"

"Catch an infection from that mangy cat of yours and die on a doorstep somewhere, I expect," said Lily crisply. "Now are you going to come with me and meet this girl already, or am I going to have to put you in a full body bind?"

Peter smiled and let Lily lead him to the girl, who indeed was pretty but ... nice.

Too nice, reflected Peter. The girl reminded him of melted ice cream. Within minutes he was bored out of his skull and after a flimsy excuse, escaped onto the porch, where he closed his eyes against the summer rain.

I should be happy. Mum is alive and well, Dad is off my back for good. I've got the job I always wanted at The Prophet, and enough set aside that if the damnable paper folded tomorrow I'd be set for years. I can look myself in the mirror every morning, and there's no Voldemort anymore to muck it all up.

I should be happy. But ... I'm not. Maybe Lily's right. Maybe I need to find a girl.

The girl from before flooded into his thoughts. Sweet, lithe, blonde ... a simple smile graced her mouth, and kindness filled her soft eyes.

And then the girl shifted - into a taller, darker girl, not much older but with fiery eyes and her hands planted on her hips. Her expression was defiant and she glared at him as though he were the devil himself. Peter's eyes sprang open.

Not a girl. A woman.

*

"Uncle Peter!" The thin voice carried over the babble of the people waiting in line, and Peter scanned the crowd, trying to see who called him - though he recognized the voice immediately. He could see the various witches and wizards tumbling as the voice's owner made his way towards his table, and Peter grinned.

"Uncle Peter!" Harry finally popped into view, his hair tousled. Sweat beaded on his crystal clear forehead, marred only by a bit of dirt, and his hair stuck in all directions. He was closely followed by his younger siblings and cousins, a troupe that crowded around the table, while the displaced witches and wizards threw disgruntled looks at the children.

Peter tried to be stern. "Shouldn't you be shopping for your Hogwarts things?" he asked. "School starts in two weeks, you know."

"I know," said Harry. "But Mum is letting me come see you while she gets my cauldron, and Dad got sick at the apothecary so he's resting at the ice cream shop."

"Sick? More like hungry," said Peter, and the boy's face broke into a grin.

"Yeah - he turned green for a minute when we walked in, but when we passed by the ice cream place on the way here, I saw him eating a whole banana split by himself."

Peter chuckled, and glanced down at the line of customers. "Well, sit behind me then, I've got to greet the masses for another twenty minutes, and then maybe you can try your hand at your own banana split, how's that?"

"Knickerbocker glory," corrected Harry, never one to let an opportunity slide by for his favorite concoction, and he led the children to the floor behind Peter, where they settled.

The line moved quickly, most people being stunned into silence when faced with The Man Who Lived, and Peter took their books with a quiet gracefulness, signing them and handing them back with a smile.

He didn't really look at any of them - he just lost himself in his thoughts, took the book and signed automatically. The children behind him were no longer silent, and instead chattered among themselves and giggled at their small games. Harry kept them to a dull roar, and Peter hardly remembered they were there after a bit.

Got out on my own, finally - mum didn't mind me moving out half as much as I thought she would. Suppose she was ready to live on her own, at any rate, without men in the house. Hear she's taken up golf even. And with The Prophet still begging at my door for more columns - "Just another ten inches, Mr Pettigrew, it's not so hard for you!" - I won't want for work for years. Better to have my own office and keep my mess intact for a little while longer.

Now if I could just get Lily off my back about finding a girl and settling down. I can't help that every woman I meet looks right at the damn scar on my forehead and never at my eyes. At least James got her pregnant again. Maybe another baby will keep her busy enough to leave me alone for a while.

Now ... about that next book ... needs motivation. Motivation ...

"Book, please," he said to the next person, holding out his hand, and continued thinking.

"I don't have one, that's what I'm trying to explain!"

Peter was shaken from his reverie. "Have what?" he asked, before actually looking at the woman for the first time. The moment he laid eyes on her, however, he was shaken to his very core.

Her.

"A book," said the woman impatiently. "They've sold out and my mum lost her own copy in the Floo - she dropped it - and that stupid man over there - " indicating the shop owner with a nod of her head " - said that I couldn't stand in line without one. Of course, he doesn't have any left to sell, so I couldn't buy another even if I had the money ... why are you staring at me like that?"

Peter jerked in his seat, suddenly made aware that he was staring at her, and tried to reply.

"I s-s-see ... er ... "

Recognizing his old stammer rearing its ugly head, Peter grew red and stopped speaking suddenly. The woman began to fidget. "And my dad ... he's rather keen on poetry, and it's his birthday next week. And he says he knew you, once upon a time. It's a pickle, I'm rather annoyed with Mum, and they say no more copies of your book until Christmas - I don't imagine you'll be back here to sign more then, will you?"

"Here," said a voice from behind Peter's ear, and Harry jumped to his feet, fishing into his robes and pulling out a book which Peter instantly recognized as Harry's own well worn copy. Peter glanced at the boy - the child's green eyes were shining and full of what Peter knew was boyhood love. The woman took the book from Harry with a hesitant smile and inspected it.

"Oh, I couldn't. This is your very own copy, what would you do?" she asked him gravely.

"Uncle Peter could get me another," said Harry. "I want you to have it!"

The woman smiled, glancing at Peter. "Well, then, I certainly can't say anything to that," she said. "I will treasure it." To Peter, she said - fairly coldly - "Goodbye then." And she nearly ran from the store.

"What did you do that for?" Peter scolded Harry. "I would have given her a new copy, and you'd still have yours! It was a first printing, too."

But Harry scarcely heard him, as he stared out the window to the woman's retreating figure. "She was pretty, wasn't she?"

Peter sighed. "Yes, she was. You're too young to be looking at girls like that, let alone women."

"How old do I have to be then?"

"At least twenty. Or thirty, if you ask your mother," said Peter.

"Aw, Uncle Peter!" groaned Harry. "I won't be thirty for a million years."

"Which isn't near long enough," said Peter. "What do you need girls for anyway, Harry? Look at me and Uncle Moony. We lead bachelor's existences and we're perfectly happy doing so."

"Mum doesn't think so," said Harry. "Mum says Uncle Moony's all right, but she thinks you're maybe the loneliest man on earth."

"Really," said Peter. "What else does your vastly intelligent mum say?"

"She says that you're just waiting for someone perfect to come along and you'll be waiting for a thousand years because there isn't anyone perfect for anyone else out there. Love is about forgiving someone else's imperfections. She says that about Dad a lot too." Harry paused, his face scrunched up in thought. "If you wait a thousand years to get married, Uncle Peter, you're still going to find love before I do, if I have to wait a million."

Someone tugged on Peter's sleeve, and he looked down to see the youngest of Sirius Black's children. "Uncle Peter," said the poppet urgently. "Ithe cweem!"

Peter tousled the child's hair, suddenly feeling very anxious to end the conversation. "Of course, ice cream. Come along then." He stood and the children popped up like pansies. "Harry, no more listening in on your mum's private conversations. And don't go looking at women like that either."

Peter put up the 'Back in Twenty Minutes' sign on the table, and waved to the shop keeper. He herded the children out onto the street, carrying the youngest Black child and headed for the ice cream parlour. Harry trotted along beside him.

"Like what, Uncle Peter?"

It took Peter a moment to remember what he'd said to Harry. "Like a puppy who's just seen the best shoelace in the world," he said. "You're barely eleven."

"For almost a month!"

"Not three weeks yet!"

"But she was pretty, wasn't she, Uncle Peter?" persisted Harry, never one to let a thing go. They entered the parlour, the bell on the door clanging as Peter swung it open. The parlour was filled with customers, but he could see James Potter in the back of the room, sitting at a table and keeping an anxious eye out for Lily.

"Go join Uncle James," Peter instructed the children. "See him over there, trying to look innocent? And make lots of noise, that'll make him even more nervous." The children rushed for James, yelling at the top of their lungs, and Peter turned to Harry.

"Pretty or no - you forgot the most important bit of meeting a woman, lad. Which only goes to prove that you're not ready for the job."

"What did I forget?"

"Her name." Peter stepped up to the counter, shifting the child on his hip, and began to order.

Only he had to stop midway through when he realized with a start that the one place the woman had never looked was his forehead.

*

It was late that day when the bookstore began to close its doors. Peter had spent the entire day meeting, greeting and writing his signature over and over again (save for twenty minutes at the ice cream parlour). As the crowds disappeared and the bookkeeper began to close the window shades, Peter massaged his cramped hand and sighed.

Never again, he thought. This is the last signing I do.

As was the one last year ... and the year before that ...

Peter smiled ruefully. He knew perfectly well that he'd return the next year. He was no Gilderoy Lockhart, of course, but he did like the attention as much as the next fellow. Besides, people wanted to see him. Him or the scar on his forehead - it was much of one and the same, at any rate. Peter smiled ruefully to himself. He wondered which of the two fascinated the public more, his poetry or his scar.

I should write a whole damn book on the scar instead of focusing my attentions elsewhere. Might be a bestseller.

The book landed on the table with a thump. Peter stared at it a moment, knowing instantly which book it was, and looked up to the new owner. He ignoring the sudden thumping in his chest, and carefully spoke the lines he'd been rehearsing to himself all day in hopes that she would return.

"You can keep it," he said. "Harry would be very upset if you did not." He slid the book to the woman.

"I would be sorry for him to lose it," said the woman. "He's a sweet boy, and it's a first edition. I didn't realize." She slid the book across the table back to Peter.

"First printing, even, first off the press," said Peter. "I always give him the first one." He once again slid the book across the table, and did not remove his hand from it. "But keep it. He's going to Hogwarts this year anyway, he won't need it with all his other school books."

"He obviously cares for you," said the woman, and she tried to push the book back to Peter. "Please - take it back. Tell him I managed to find another copy." She struggled to push the book, but couldn't, and ended by sighing heavily. She threw her hands in the air. "Fine, be stubborn then. But I won't take it back."

She turned and began to walk away, and Peter felt his heart leap into his throat. "Wait!" he called after her, and turned to rummage in his bag. She stopped and looked back at him, her arms crossed. Peter pulled a new copy of the book from his bag and held it aloft. "Here - for your dad. I signed it earlier, and p-p-personalized it for him, too."

Peter heard his stammer and his heart fell instantly. Damn, he thought, the one time in my life that I really and truly care about impressing anyone ... and that stutter had to return!

But either the woman hadn't noticed, or chose to keep her thoughts regarding the stutter to herself, because it wasn't the stutter that caused her frown. "You let the boy give me his own copy, but kept this to yourself?"

Peter stiffened. "For your information, I was about to give you this then - but Harry beat me to it."

"Slower than an eleven year old boy!"

Peter glared, and stuffed the book back into his bag, which he slung over his shoulder. "Slower is not the description I would use, Miss ... "

The woman ignored the obvious hint for her name. Her face grew red and her eyes grew wide, and very suddenly Peter realized just how young she was. "You, sir," she began, and stopped, uncertain how to continue.

"Are a heel? An ingrate? A brute?" supplied Peter, feeling very much to be all three.

The woman softened. "Yes."

"Come to dinner with me anyway?"

The woman paused, taking the opportunity to look him up and down. She smiled suddenly, and Peter's heart leapt. She took a step closer to him, so close that he could smell the shampoo she used on her hand. Her hand slipped around his side, and slid into the bag over his shoulder. Peter gulped.

"No," she said, and pulled the book out of his bag and left the store.

*

It rained, but Tessa laughed. "That's good luck in some parts of the world," she said, and didn't care at all. She rolled over the bed and teased Peter, who kept his eyes firmly shut, as he'd promised the day before.

"Don't peek," said Tessa.

"Do I look like I'm peeking?" asked Peter, feeling for her shoulders. The ends of her brown hair tickled the backs of his hands, and he smiled. He felt her roll on top of him, the thin nightgown she wore was soft and almost non-existent between their skin.

"You might," replied Tessa.

"Stupid superstition, anyway," scoffed Peter, and ran his hands from her shoulders to her waist. He began to bunch the nightgown up, trying to find skin.

"They say a girl is never more beautiful than on her wedding day."

"Then it's all downhill from here?"

Tessa thumped Peter on the side of his chest, and he grinned, imagining her distasteful expression. "Ah, you hit me. That's good, for a moment there I thought you'd changed places with some other more boring wench."

Tessa thumped him again, but followed it with a kiss. "And to think I was going to give you your wedding present early," she murmured from deep in her throat, and Peter almost opened his eyes.

"Oh? And what would that be?"

"Keep your eyes closed," said Tessa.

She moved under the covers.

*

Peter was worried. The crib would collapse. The nappies would be too large and would fall off. The nursery would be too bright. The baby would never sleep.

"Peter!"

"Push, Mrs Pettigrew!"

The baby would always sleep. Its cousins would tease it mercilessly. It would inherit its father's stutter.

"You're doing fine, Tessa, just a little more ... "

"You said that twice already! I don't believe you anymore."

The baby would have two heads. Tessa would be in labor for another week. Peter would be handed the baby and drop it.

"Argh!"

"That's it! I see the head!"

The baby would hate him. The baby would hate Tessa. Tessa would hate him and never want to be touched again.

Peter nearly laughed.

"Shut it, you! This is your fault!"

"Yup," said Peter as the room filled with the howl of a newborn baby. And Peter's laughter chimed right in.

*

Harry, at fifteen, was still small for his age. His dark hair was still messy. His eyes became only greener with the passage of time. He ruled his younger 'cousins' and siblings with an iron fist sheathed in cotton, settling disputes and arguments with as much fairness as he could muster. Though the image of James Potter, Harry's disposition was exactly like his mother's.

The boy had an even head on his shoulders, had scarcely gotten into trouble at school (compared to the school record James Potter had left behind, at any rate), and despite some temporary teenage angst and rebellion, was a clever, charming boy. Perhaps his one failing was a propensity for keeping secrets from adults, but this wasn't anything to take any concern over, or at least as far as Peter was concerned. After all, Harry generally told Peter most of what he thought. Mostly Harry was concerned that he should, as a teenager, be rebelling with greater gusto, but he just couldn't be bothered.

Except now. Something had been bothering the boy all summer, and now that school was starting shortly again, Peter wanted to know what was on the boy's mind. He had learned early to watch Harry's eyes, because the boy would focus on the problem he was pondering. The trouble was that Harry focused squarely on Tessa, who was sitting beneath a tree on the far side of the yard, nursing the baby.

"School starts up again - you ready for your cousins to join you?" asked Peter, stretching his legs out in the grass. The bench he shared with Harry tottered a little, but did not tip.

"Er, yeah. I guess."

"You don't really have to watch out for them, no matter what your mum says," said Peter. "Any kid of Sirius Black's can very well take care of himself."

"I know," said Harry. Peter sighed.

"Okay, kid, out with it."

"She was mine."

"You were eleven. You never stood a chance anyway."

"I saw her first."

"No, I did. You just spoke to her first."

"Which claimed her as mine."

"Her parents talked to her years before either of us did," said Peter, setting his beer down on his knee and leaning toward Harry. "They were willing to admit defeat, why won't you?"

"She took my book!"

But gave it back," thought Peter, but as he'd never given the book back to Harry, refrained from saying it. Harry took his silence as a small victory and gloated. Peter smiled.

"What about that Granger girl? She's pretty enough." Harry snorted. "The Chang lass is nice - and I think she likes you." Harry sighed. "And I won't even mention the Weasley child. I think she's forgotten all about you."

"Give it up, Uncle Peter."

"Never. If I don't find a girl for you, how will you stop moping over my wife?"

Harry groaned. "She was mine first."

Peter laughed. "You just don't give up, do you? She's mine now, boy."

Over by the tree, Tessa lowered the baby and fixed her blouse. Harry stared at her with all the boyish fascination he could muster. "She's the best woman in the world."

"Don't I know it?"

"It's not fair."

Tessa stood, and taking up the baby and blanket, began walking across the yard to them. Both men fell silent as they watched her approach.

"Hello, Harry. Have a nice chat?"

"Yes'm," said Harry.

Tessa laughed. "Oh, Harry, not that again! I'm married to your uncle now, you don't have to ma'am me from here to Sunday."

"No'm," said Harry.

Peter smiled, knowing full well that Harry would be walloped by Lily should he ever be caught calling Tessa by her first name only, and that Harry would rather die than call the inspiration for his sticky sheets with the title 'aunt.'

Tessa chuckled, and turned to Peter. "The baby's a bit colicky - do you want to head home?"

"Of course," said Peter, rising. He reached to tousle Harry's hair, because he knew it would annoy him, and Harry glared at his uncle. "G'night, Harry."

"Night," said Harry dully.

That night, snuggled in bed, Peter nudged Tessa with his nose.

"Harry's in l-l-love with you." The stutter made him wince, and Tessa turned to face him, her arms around his chest.

"Oh Peter," she said lovingly. "You aren't jealous of a fifteen year old boy, are you?"

"No."

"Liar," said Tessa. "Don't tease him about it, first love is always hard."

Comforted, Peter smiled. "I can tell you what else is hard - "

"Peter! I'm serious."

"No, Sirius is in London with Megan and the kids. You're Tessa."

Tessa kicked him. "Be nice to him, Peter. He'll outgrow it, he's harmless. And I wouldn't leave you for him anyway."

Peter grinned and hugged her tighter.

"Although," mused Tessa, "he does have more hair than you ... "

Peter growled and rolled over her as she laughed. He grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head. "Evil woman, I'll show you!"

Later, as Tessa slept in his arms, Peter reflected how good life had been to him. The weight of his wife sleeping on his chest, the soft breathing from the baby next door, the security he provided both.

A blessing... he thought, and closed his eyes.

*

Peter woke with a start. The cold dankness of the cell seeped into his bones, and the warmth from his dream faded into memory. The drip-drip-drip of a faraway leak in the dungeons brought him back to reality, and reality was a cold cell in Voldemort's castle. The mark on his left arm burned a signal that the other Death Eaters were being summoned for a meeting.

Peter huddled closer into his threadbare cloak, trying to make himself smaller into the damp stone walls, and turning his face beneath the rough fabric, wept.