Like Magic

Chapter Two

Autumn 1968

Mrs Pettigrew was careful to look both ways - not before crossing the street, but rather to be certain that no one saw her cast a levitation charm on the box of books she carried.

I don't think Squibby knows quite how odd it is to live among the Muggles, she thought to herself, using her own pet name for her husband. The experience of the last ten years living in the Muggle-dominated neighbourhood had felt like an eternity to Beatrice Pettigrew. Maurice Pettigrew was a liaison between the Ministry of Magic and the prime minister's office. In order to keep up the appearance to the general public as another one of the Prime Minister's flunkies, the family had to live as Muggles.

Denying the world she had been born into was likely the hardest thing Mrs. Pettigrew had ever had to do. She had made do with frequent trips to London to visit Diagon Alley and spent the day with her wizarding friends, and now was returning from such a trip, carrying a box of books from Flourish and Blotts. Silly Squibby, she thought, resting the box on a bench near the zebra crossing, Honestly, who would notice if I Floo'd myself to Diagon Alley and back again? Does anyone really notice that I take the train into London with everyone else?

Mrs Pettigrew looked across the street to the park, where she quickly spotted her son Peter playing with the Evans girls. She smiled, enjoying the sight of the three children tossing a ball back and forth to each other, until she got a closer look at the ball - it was red leather, with curious hand grips, and Mrs Pettigrew instantly recognised it as her husband's Quidditch Quaffle. Oh, dear, someone might notice that, she thought, a bit annoyed. Peter should know better! Suppose a Muggle sees that and asks for a closer look?

Peter spotted his mum from across the street, and began to wave. "Mum!" he shouted. "Back already?"

Petunia turned around to spy Mrs Pettigrew, who had always been her favourite adult. The Quaffle sailed past her and rolled into the street.

"Pets!" groaned Lily. "Pay attention!" Petunia dashed into the road after the ball.

At that very instant a double coach turned onto the street directly in front of the girl, who stood stock still staring at it, clutching the ball.

"Petunia!" called Mrs Pettigrew, and pulled her wand from her pocket. But before she could even say the words, Petunia flew backwards through the air and was dropped onto the sidewalk where she promptly burst into tears. The coach, as well as all other traffic, screeched to a halt, and Mrs Pettigrew dashed across the street.

"Did you see that girl?" she overheard a young man in a car say.

"It was almost like she flew out of the way!" replied an older lady.

Mrs Pettigrew was quite agitated when she reached the still sobbing girl, now being comforted by Lily and Peter, who were kneeling on either side of her. Peter stared up at his mother with very wide eyes.

"Mum, I didn't do that!" he whispered, quite shaken. Mrs Pettigrew patted his shoulder, knowing that he was telling the truth. One look at the surprised expression on Lily's face told her that much.

"Petunia, dear, what were you thinking, running into the street like that?" scolded Mrs Pettigrew gently. "You nearly scared us all to death."

Petunia looked up at her, tears streaking her face. "I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I wasn't looking."

"That's obvious. Come, dear, let's get you home and cleaned up. I think you scraped your elbow when you jumped out of the way," and Mrs Pettigrew picked up the girl and the four of them began to walk home. Lily walked just a bit behind the others, still looking a bit nervous.

Mrs Pettigrew watched her out of the corner of her eye. I think, she mused, that it is time for a conversation regarding Miss Lily Evans. I'll talk to Maurice tonight.

* * * * *

Petunia's scrapes and bruises were cleaned up, and she had been put to bed with undue haste. Peter had snuck out of his own bedroom to stand watch over her as she slept, and when he finally left her to return to his own bed it was quite late. As he slipped through the upstairs window, he was surprised to see that his parents were still awake. Normally he would have slipped straight to his bed, grateful to have gotten away yet again with his late night activities, but when he overheard his own name being mentioned, Peter couldn't help but press his ear against the door.

"Pete said it wasn't him, and I believe him," his mother was saying. "He may have complete lack of control, but at least he knows when he has done something."

"I don't suppose her parents will take it well," mused Mr Pettigrew. He was lining up what he called his "Muggle artefacts" on the dresser: his watch, his change purse, his glasses and his keys to his office. Mrs Pettigrew sat on the fluffy brocade ottoman in the corner.

"I think Violet might, once she is over the shock. She is always looking out the window to see what I'm doing in the garden, trying to catch my secret." Mrs Pettigrew giggled to herself, and tucked her feet beneath her. "'Why, Beatrice, your vegetables are incredible - what is your magic secret?' If only she knew!" Mrs Pettigrew rocked back with laughter, and Mr. Pettigrew frowned.

"Beatrice!"

"Oh, don't pout, Squibby, I am careful. Only do my charms first thing in the morning, and only when no one else is outside. Besides, I have to be consistent about my Repelling Charm, if it's to keep anything non-magical out of the garden."

"You shouldn't do them at all," said Mr Pettigrew sternly.

"How else am I to keep slugs and rabbits from eating my vegetables?" asked Mrs Pettigrew indignantly. "Besides, that's what first tipped me off about Lily. She was able to walk into my garden and take some of the vegetables with ease - and really, she should have had a serious attack of morals the moment she stepped foot inside of it."

"I still don't think that your charms are a good idea."

"Lily is very strong," continued Mrs Pettigrew, ignoring her husband. "Stronger than Peter, even, I think. I am sure if you were to ask the Ministry, you'd find they are already aware of her."

"What about her sister - Patty?"

"Petunia. I'm not certain about her. They're always together, it's hard to tell if the magic is only one or both combined. Think of it, Squibby - two witches, right next door. And Peter is the best of friends with the both of them. What could be more perfect?"

Peter crept back into his bed, his head full of what he'd just heard. Lily, a witch? And maybe Pets too? He thought as he snuggled under the covers. He could look out of his window straight into Petunia's room, and he thought about the girl sleeping soundly across the way. That'd be great, I wouldn't have to pretend anymore. And Lily and I could go to Hogwarts together next year, and Pets could join us later.

Peter smiled and rolled over, his last thought before falling asleep: If Pets is a witch, she won't be afraid of my magic when we get married someday.

* * * * *

School started up, and all three children were soon immersed in lessons, homework, and testing. Most especially Lily and Peter, for whom it was their last year of primary education. They would be taking the Common Entrance Exams this year, which would affect which schools they went to for their secondary education. Lily, true to form, was desperate to do as well as possible. She was anxious to attend Sudbury Manor in London, a ninety-minute one-way train ride every day. Petunia, on the other hand, disliked all mention of the test, knowing it was going to separate their group.

"We have to spend more time in our studies, Peter," Lily was saying sternly. She sat at her desk, completely surrounded by open books and loose papers. A pencil was tucked behind either ear. "If we don't get good marks, we won't get into Sunbury Manor Secondary."

"I'm not worried," said Peter, shrugging. He was leaning over the window sill, his left toe precariously balanced on the rose trellis that climbed the exterior wall. His other leg waved back and forth, occasionally kicking the house.

"Can't you come in through the door like everyone else?" questioned Lily. "If Mummy knew you were climbing her rose trellis - "

"I didn't climb up the trellis," protested Peter.

"I suppose you flew?" asked Lily sarcastically.

"Well, not exactly."

"I don't know what's gotten into you. The closer we get to the entrance exams the less you take them seriously," complained Lily.

"Just relax!"

"How can I!" wailed Lily, throwing her hands in the air. "The exams are in three months!"

Peter leaned in further, and Lily and Petunia copied him. "I heard," he said in a conspiratorial whisper, "my mum talking to the old man a few weeks ago, after I was supposed to be asleep."

"You shouldn't eavesdrop like that," whispered Lily.

"Why not? They were talking about us! Mum said she thought you might get into Hogwarts like me next year. You know - it's where they went to school years and years ago."

"Why would I be accepted at their old school?"

"Er - " Peter gulped, realizing he had said far more than he should.

"And where is it, anyway? I've never heard of it."

"Is it far away?" asked Petunia, voicing her main concern.

"Somewhere north of here. Yorkshire, I think?"

"Yorkshire?" asked Lily.

Petunia sat straight up. "But - that's a million miles away from here! You can't both go away! What would I do if you go? I'd be all alone!"

Lily glared at Peter. "Hush, Pets, Peter is just pulling my leg. I'm not going that far away, just to London and I'll still live at home and I'll kiss you goodnight like always, and we'll play every weekend."

"Besides, Pets, you might go to Hogwarts too," added Peter. "Mum said."

Lily went over to the window and slammed it shut on to Peter's fingers. He yelped and fell from the window. She sat next to Petunia on the bed and put her arm around her.

"I won't leave you, Pets," she soothed the girl. "How could I? You're my sister, and I'll be near you always."

* * * * *

Lily began to shut herself in her room in the evenings for several hours at a time, studying into the wee hours of the night. Petunia, already beginning to feel abandoned, would sit in her own room, watching Peter study. Despite his resistance, he was studying for his final exams as well, although not with the same fire that drove Lily. Peter would do just enough to complete his assignments, and perhaps read a little bit of his study guides each night, and then spend the rest of the time "throwing" his books and toys to Petunia in her room, a good ten feet away. He would then help her throw them back to him. She never could throw so far unless he was near.

It was early December when Mr Evans made his announcement at dinner. "Grunnings has given me four tickets to the pantomime in London. The performance is on Saturday afternoon - I thought we could make a day of it?"

Lily and Petunia looked at their father with what was unmistakably glee in their face. They looked anxiously at their mother, waiting for her response.

"Well, now," replied Mrs Evans, "I don't know."

Petunia's face fell, and she returned to poking at her dinner. Lily bit her lip.

"I have so much to do for the Christmas season," continued Mrs Evans. "It would be impossible for me to give up an entire day just for a silly children's show."

"But can't we go?" asked Petunia in a small voice. Mrs Evans turned on her and stared coldly.

"Without me?" she asked pointedly.

"Oh, but Mummy, I could use the break from my studies," cajoled Lily. "And Papa could take us; you'd have the whole day to yourself."

"An excellent point," agreed Mr Evans, who was rather looking forward to some time with his daughters. "Violet, think of how much you could get done without all of us under foot."

Mrs Evans sighed, determined to play the martyr to the very end. "If you think you can handle two girls on your own, well then, go ahead and enjoy yourselves. We'll just let that fourth ticket go to waste."

But Petunia was mouthing something to Lily, who quickly picked up on it. "Peter! Papa, couldn't we invite Peter along with us?"

Mrs Evans jumped in. "Oh, now there's an idea. Perhaps his mother might let me in on her gardening secrets."

Mr Evans nodded, though he was more interested in Mr Pettigrew's position within the government. "The father works with the prime minister, I believe?"

"Does he now?" asked Mrs Evans. "My, neighbours of ours being so important!"

"We can ask him to come, can't we?" pressed Lily.

"Yes, yes," said Mr Evans. "By all means! Run along and tell the lad, there's a girl."

Lily and Petunia were out of their seats quick as a wink, and raced each other to the house next door. Mr Evans smiled at his wife.

"Fancy that, do you suppose our Lily has a crush on the boy next door?" he remarked to Mrs Evans.

"I rather think they both do," said Mrs Evans grimly. "He's a bit odd, that one. I'd watch all three very closely this weekend, if I were you."

Mr Evans resolved to do just that. He watched them as he led all three to the train station one Saturday, just after noon, and then watched them as they boarded the train for London. He fairly goggled as the three held hands, giggled, and pointed out the sights as the train sped through the countryside before finally arriving in the middle of the city. By the time the party had reached the station, Mr Evans had decided that his wife was incorrect. Both of his daughters did not have a "crush" on the Evans boy.

Only Petunia. And the feeling seemed to be mutual. The two gave each other sly little winks when Lily wasn't looking, and Peter would squeeze Petunia's hand every so often. And while Peter and Lily both paid considerable attention to the younger girl, Peter and Lily's demeanour towards each other bordered on considerate, not affectionate.

"Oh, Papa, holly sprigs!" cried Lily as they departed the train station. "Can't we have some to pin to our coats?"

"Certainly," replied Mr Evans, and dug in his pocket for money, handing it to Petunia. "Here, bring back one for each of us."

Petunia, feeling very important with her task, returned with the sprigs of holly very carefully. With her tongue between her teeth, she pinned a sprig to everyone's lapel. Mr Evans smiled at her and put his hand on the top of her head, covering it.

"Well done, Petunia," he said lightly, and was rewarded with a broad smile.

By Jove, she's rather pretty when she smiles -- pity she doesn't do it more often, he thought.

The pantomime was bright and colourful, and the children laughed harder than they'd laughed in a very long time. Even Mr Evans smiled at the antics of the tumblers and clowns, and all too soon the fun was over. As they struggled into their coats and out of the theatre, Mr Evans glanced at his watch.

"It's too early to head back to the train station," he said. "What would you children like to do?"

"Could we go to Hambly's and look in the windows?" asked Petunia, her eyes bright.

"Mr Evans," piped up Peter, "my father gave me ten quid to treat us all to tea."

"Really?" asked Mr Evans, liking this idea best of all. "Bloody kind of him. Well, I know of a place that will take us by Hambly's. Shall we?"

He reached out his hands to both his daughters, who took them. Petunia smiled shyly up at him, and then looked to Peter, who took her other hand. Petunia felt as though she might burst from happiness.

Hamleys was bustling and brightly coloured, and all three children stared with their noses pressed to the window. Mr Evans watched them all fondly, thinking that he'd never had a more pleasant day before.

"Children, we need to be going," he said gently, prying them away from the window. "It's only a little ways further." They began to walk.

Peter was looking about him, having been to London infrequently, and only then on his way to Diagon Alley from the closest Tube stop. He was looking so intently at the buildings that he almost failed to recognize them, and then when he did he nearly stopped dead in his tracks.

"Peter, are you all right?" asked Petunia, taking his hand.

"Er, yes, sorry," said Peter, trying to smile at her. He hurried to catch up, and turned his collar up around his ears. "Bit cold, that's all. Sir, are we nearly there?"

"Nearly, nearly," said Mr Evans briskly, clearly enjoying his walk.

Peter hoped "nearly nearly" meant "now now." Peter wasn't cold at all, except for his nose. It was only that he had begun to recognize the streets and buildings they were walking along, and Peter knew they were very close to the Leaky Cauldron. The last thing Peter wanted was to meet up with a wizard or witch who recognized him, and did not realize that he was with Muggles. That's all I need, is someone who knows Father to recognize me and ask about Quidditch or some such thing, he thought, dismayed. Father wouldn't find it amusing at all if Mr Evans found out that we were wizards.

Peter, so immersed in his own thoughts, wasn't watching where he was going and walked right into a very large person. "Oh, sorry!" he began to exclaim, and looked up into the eyes of Mr Bartemius Crouch.

Bloody bad luck, he moaned to himself. Of all the wizards, I have to run into Father's superior! Maybe he won't recognize me.

"Well, hello young Master Pettigrew!" said Mr Crouch cheerily. "Whatever brings you to London?"

"We were at the pantomime!" chirped Petunia, still holding Peter's hand.

Peter felt his stomach fall. Worse, Mr Evans and Lily had stopped and rejoined him, and Mr Evans was smiling at Mr Crouch with an inquisitive look in his eye. At least Mr Crouch was dressed fairly normally. The suit looked as though it had been tailored on Bond Street, and his bowler could be envied by many a banker. The only bit that was unusual was the loden coloured opera cape lined in some sort of fur.

"The pantomime, eh?" said Mr Crouch, smiling at the girl.

"Er, Mr Crouch, I didn't mean to -- I mean, I didn't see you -- " Peter stammered.

"How could you, the pavement being so interesting?" chuckled Mr Crouch. "And who might this young miss be? I didn't think you had a sister."

"Oh! My parents are at home. I'm here with our neighbors, the Evans," said Peter hoping that Mr Crouch remembered his father's circumstances. "This is Petunia, and her father, Mr --"

"Mr Geoffrey Evans!" interrupted Mr Crouch, reaching out to shake Mr Evans' hand. Mr Evans took it, looking a bit surprised. "Pleased to meet you, sir, and this must be Lily?" He turned to the girl, whose mouth had dropped open in surprise. "I have heard much about you, young lady."

"You have?" asked Lily.

"Indeed," replied Mr Crouch. "I work with Peter's father, you know."

"Ah!" said Mr Evans, deciding that this was how the odd man knew his name. "Would you care to have tea with us, Mr -- er -- what was your name again?"

"Sorry, no, I must rush," apologised Mr Crouch. "But some other time, certainly. You'll be hearing from us soon, I'm certain." And Mr Crouch disappeared into the crowd of people, and even with his singular opera cloak was no more to be seen.

"I wonder what he meant," said Lily, puzzled. Peter shrugged and tugged on Mr Evans' sleeve.

"Please, sir," he said, "is the tea shop far?"

"Oh, no," said Mr Evans, a bit dazed. "No, not far at all. Come along, children."

They moved along, and Peter hoped that the chance encounter would soon be forgotten. He wasn't terribly good with memory charms.

* * * * *

Christmas and New Years had come and gone. The depths of winter were upon Surrey. After school and during the weekends Lily, Petunia and Peter would have the occasional snow ball fight with the other children on their street. The battles were long drawn out affairs, usually ending with all participants (and often the random dog) soaking wet. Afterwards, all the children would crowd into the warm cosy kitchen of Mrs Pettigrew's to sip tea or cocoa and have fresh-from-the-oven Bath Buns.

Lily kept looking at Mrs Pettigrew's oven in amazement as the buns kept replacing themselves as fast as the children were ready for another. How did she do that? She did not recall seeing Mrs Pettigrew putting another batch into the oven. But, she must have when she was looking elsewhere. There was something odd about Mrs Pettigrew and Peter she thought. It wasn't scary odd. Just odd.

As January ended and turned to February, Petunia and Lily spent hours making Valentines. They had carefully saved bits of wrapping papers, fabric scraps and doilies as well as ribbons during the previous year for this purpose.

Petunia spent many after school hours pouring through the bits of paper arranging and re-arranging until she was satisfied each Valentine would be special.

Petunia selected a pale lavender foiled paper that was edged in a fine gold lace that she carefully ruffled. She was especially careful on her mothers heart because if it was well received the remainder of the week would be more pleasant.

For her father she made a heart from the holly wrapping paper from Lily's Christmas present to her. Petunia wanted Papa to know how happy the day he had taken them to the pantomime had made her. Would he remember the holly he had bought them?

Lily's Valentine would be the second most special for her to make. Having thought long and deeply she felt the blue satin fabric with the silver stars on it was the best. She put a bit of fluff she had taken from her bear underneath the fabric to puff it up. The ribbon Lily liked the best was carefully sewn across the heart in a diamond pattern and on top of each cross she stitched a pretty button.

It was Peter's Valentine that gave her the greatest joy to make. The red and golden heart-shaped valentine was edged in lace-cut paper, and Petunia had glued on a very light layer of silver glitter to make it sparkle. She thought it must be her very best work ever.

On Valentine's Day, Lily and Petunia woke extra-early to catch their father before he left for work, in order to present their cards at the same time. Mr Evans was extraordinarily pleased with his cards, and especially enjoyed the holly sprigs on Petunia's creation. "I'll pin it up at work," he told the blushing girl, kissing her forehead.

But Mrs Evans was less than complimentary. "Purple and blue? These aren't Valentines colours, Petunia," she sniffed, turning the card over in her hand. "Couldn't you have made it pink, or red, like Lily? You are a strange one, Petunia Evans."

Peter's reaction was everything Petunia had hoped it would be. He grinned when Petunia handed him her card, and Petunia could tell he was very pleased. "It's beautiful, Pets! And you made it yourself? Gosh, that makes me feel a git -- I bought yours in London."

"You have a card for me?" said Petunia, and took the card he offered her, opening it. It was a large heart, covered in glitter, and somewhat gaudy in appearance. But when Petunia peered closer, she could see that it seemed to be three-dimensional, and in the centre of the heart floated her name and Peter's name in glittery gold lettering. "It's so pretty, Peter!"

Peter reached over and shook the card slightly. The two names floated around in their space, and when they bumped into each other, little sparkles flew around them.

"I've never seen anything like it, Peter!" said Petunia in awe.

"I found it in London," said Peter. "I thought that you might like it, and next year when I'm at Hogwarts, you can look at it and remember me."

Petunia reached up and kissed Peter on the cheek. He blushed bright red. "I love it, Peter," she said. "Thank you - you're my best friend ever!"

Lily and Peter took the Common Comprehensive Exams the next month, on a rather blustery day. Petunia kept watch for them from her window, ready to let them inside and give them tea, and find out how they had done. Lily was fairly confident that she'd done well. "Maybe not well enough to go to Sunbury Manor, but well enough at least," she said with a sigh. "At least it's over!"

"How did you do, Peter?" asked Petunia.

"All right, I think," said Peter. "Doesn't matter anyhow, I'm set for Hogwarts no matter what."

Lily scoffed. "Funny school that won't even care about your grades. I don't know that I would want to go there if that's how they treat academics!"

Petunia tossed her head. "I'm sure it's a very good school," she said in defense of Peter. "And Peter is very smart; he can get in anywhere."

Peter smiled at her and thought that he'd have to get her something really good for Easter. And he did. On Easter morning, Petunia and Lily found a set of chocolate eggs wrapped in pastel-coloured cellophane sitting on their window sills. Lily came into Petunia's room to open hers.

"They're so large!" she said, plopping on Petunia's bed. "Look, they have pull tabs on them. Shall we pull them together?"

Both girls pulled on the tabs at the same time. The eggs popped open, releasing purple and pink butterflies throughout the room. The girls laughed as the butterflies' wings brushed against their cheeks, smelling sweetly of maple and sugar.

"Oh!" said Petunia, reaching up for one. "Lily, look. They have our names on their wings!"

"How did Peter do it?" asked Lily. "It's like magic!"

"Peter can do anything," said Petunia firmly. "I hope he doesn't forget me when he goes away."

Lily laughed. "Oh, Pets! He wrote your name on butterflies! He won't forget you at all."

"But there will be other girls at his school," said Petunia. "And they'll be pretty and fun and he might like one of them better."

"Oh, Pets, don't worry. We'll send him biscuits every week, if you want. He won't forget either of us, then. I think he might marry you one day."

"I'm only eight!" said Petunia.

"You'll grow up," said Lily.

Petunia thought about that a lot in the days that followed. Marry Peter Pettigrew, and she would smile to herself. Mrs Evans was sure that the girl was planning something and kept a closer eye on her than she might have otherwise. But Petunia didn't actually do much, only sit there and imagined her eventual wedding to Peter and their subsequent life together, complete with house and children.

In late April, Peter and his family went away on holiday for a weekend to visit his mother's family. Peter was unnaturally excited about the holiday, but not for the same reasons the Evans girls had been told. April 23 marked St George's Day, which was a regular feast day for most people, but in the wizarding world was far more important. St George had saved England hundreds of years previously from a particularly nasty dragon, and the day was usually celebrated with bonfires, parties, and Quidditch matches.

Peter spent the day playing Quidditch with other children his age, most of whom he knew only slightly through his father. Peter alternated between watching the adult matches and actually participating in the youth matches, in which a smaller field and height limits were used, as well as "drunken" Bludgers, made of soft, spongy material that wouldn't hurt anyone.

There were three youth matches (with a 45 minute time limit) that Peter was scheduled to play in. He was able to play his best position, Keeper, in the first two matches, but in the last match the Keeper was scheduled to be a boy Peter didn't know. While Peter was gearing up for his next match, a dark-haired boy sat next to him on the bench. "You're Peter Pettigrew, right?" he said cheerily. "I'm James Potter. You're going to be one of the Beaters, right?"

"Yeah," said Peter. "I'm usually Keeper, though, so I don't know if I'll be any good."

"No matter, it's not about winning," said James, shrugging.

"Sure it is!" said another voice, and Sirius Black threw his bag between the two. "Potter, you're off your rocker telling him that winning's not the end all be all of existence."

"This is Sirius Black," said James.

"I know him," said Peter.

"Petey's dad is a friend of my father's," said Sirius, plopping down on the ground to fix his gaiters. "He's a decent Keeper and all - must be those Muggle sports he plays."

"You play Muggle sports?" asked James curiously, and Peter felt his face grow hot.

"Football, a lot," he mumbled. "I'm a goalie on my school team. It's kind of like Keeper, except no broomsticks."

"But that's brilliant!" said James. "It must be excellent training and all, seeing as we can't play Quidditch very often. How did you get into playing Muggle sports?"

"Petey here lives with them," said Sirius. "Muggle school and everything, huh, Petey? Bet his girlfriend is a Muggle too."

Peter spluttered. "I don't have a girlfriend!"

"Sure you don't, Petey," said Sirius easily. He jumped up from the ground. "Hey, Arabella!" he yelled, and ran off towards the pitch.

Peter clenched and unclenched his fists. "That prat," he grumbled to himself.

James patted Peter sympathetically on the back. "Yeah, he is," he agreed. "But he means well enough. He just doesn't have any tact. Never has, really. I've known him since I was three, and we were in nursery school."

"He's an overgrown ego with legs."

James laughed. "Spot on," he said. "But you don't have to worry about him. I can keep him in line, so just stick with me. You're starting at Hogwarts next year?"

"Yes," said Peter.

"Me too," said James. "Good then. Say, you play Keeper in this game anyway, all right? I'll get Sirius to play Beater, and I can play Chaser."

Peter grinned. "That would be great."

"Right then," said James. "Do you play in the Kiddie Quidditch leagues at all?"

"I did, a bit, last year," said Peter, "But I stopped to play football instead."

"See, and I couldn't play last year because I broke my collarbone falling off my broom, and Mum wanted me to sit the season out," said James. "If Sirius says you're a good Keeper, that's good enough for me."

The referee on the pitch blew his whistle, signaling the start of the game, and James jumped up. "Here we go! Ready?"

"Oh, yeah!" And grabbing their broomsticks, the two boys took to the air.

At the end of the day was the re-enactment of St George's slaying of the dragon, and Peter cheered with the rest of them as the wizard playing St George vanquished the real dragon, "killing" it by making it disappear to a pre-arranged spot somewhere in Bulgaria. The fireworks lasted into late in the night, and Mr Pettigrew had to carry Peter home again at the end of the festivities.

"Little tyke," he said, laying Peter down in his bed at last. "Best day he's had in a long time, eh, Bea?"

"Indeed. I wish he knew more wizarding children. Perhaps at Hogwarts he'll find more friends like us."

"It will be good for him there - spend less time with Muggle children, watching the telly and playing football, or whatever it is they play," said Mr Pettigrew.

Peter wasn't completely asleep, and heard what his father said. Why does he care who I play with, he thought as he dozed. He's the one who put me here, he shouldn't care if Muggles are my friends, and I play Muggle games more than Quidditch. What else am I supposed to do?

Peter tried to stop watching television, to please his father, but his resolve didn't last very long. Lily and Petunia began pestering him to join them in watching Prince Charles' investiture.

"But this is important, Peter!" coaxed Lily. "He's going to be the Prince of Wales, and we should watch!"

"Don't see why it matters," complained Peter. Lily looked shocked.

"Peter," Petunia asked, "did you see Poodles was decorated for today too?"

"Was he?" he asked innocently.

"Yes, he had his fur painted with the Prince's three feathers."

Peter smirked. Mrs Parkhurst had been shrieking at the dog groomer over the telephone while he had knelt next to her window laughing into his hand.

"Peter!!!!" Lily scolded. "He'll be our King one day! Now, I'm not going to hear another word. You're going to watch with Pets and me and then we're going to the party they're holding down the street, and we'll all have a marvelous time before we go away to school."

Peter looked up. "You're going away, then?"

Lily puffed out her chest. "I got my letter yesterday! I'm going to Sunbury Manor after all!"

"Oh," said Peter. He looked over the fence, scanning the Evans' garden. "Pets isn't pleased about it, is she?"

"No," said Lily, and said confidentially, "she's been ignoring me ever since I got the notice. I think she's upset about me spending so much time away. But I'll be still living at home, at least, I won't be completely gone."

Petunia didn't see it that way. She only knew that her best friend Peter was going very far away, and Lily would seldom be at home once school began. Peter going away was something she had known about for years, and this was one thing. But Lily - well, Lily was her sister, and Petunia felt that sisters shouldn't ever be apart. When Peter came over to watch the Investiture on the telly in July, Petunia made sure that she didn't sit next to Lily.

"Prince Charles is dreamy," giggled Lily, as the screen focused on the young prince.

"His ears are too big," said Petunia.

"I don't care," said Lily. "Wouldn't it be funny if he married me one day?"

"You'd be a princess then," said Peter.

"You'd make a lovely princess, darling," said Mrs Evans, who sat on the sofa behind the children.

"If you were a princess, what would I be?" asked Petunia, forgetting her supposed indifference to her sister.

"Doing the laundry, I expect," said Mrs Evans crisply. She stood and peered out the window. "Ah, Peter, your mother is in her garden. I think I'll have a word about her cucumbers." She left the room.

"Pets, you'll be my assistant princess," said Lily firmly. "You can live with me in London in the palace."

"I can?" asked Petunia. "Even though I've been horrible?"

"You're my sister," said Lily. "You being horrible isn't going to change that. There isn't anything you could do that would make me stop loving you, don't you know that?"

Petunia smiled and moved to sit between Lily and Peter. Lily slung her arm around the girl and Peter threw his arm around Petunia as well, and the three children kept a running commentary on the rest of the ceremony.

I hope every summer is like this one, thought Petunia, content.