Dazzled

"What house do you reckon you'll be in?" asked the blonde boy.

Peter looked up from unwrapping his Chocolate Frog. "I dunno. Dad was a Hufflepuff, but Mum was a Slytherin. I'll be one of those, I guess." His parents had told him before he got on the train that they didn't care which house he got into. There had been Pettigrews in all of them at one time or another, and he was certain to make them proud no matter where he ended up. Hufflepuff wouldn't be too bad, but he supposed all the houses were nice in their own way.

"Personally, I hope I'm in Ravenclaw. My whole family was in there." The boy held out his hand. "Nathaniel Belby," he said.

Peter shook it, introduced himself, and then resumed unwrapping his Chocolate Frog. He removed the card and looked at it. The portrait of a wizard with a pointed, white beard stared back at him. He read the caption: John Dee. Drat. He'd been hoping for a Dumbledore. He would've considered that a good omen.

Belby craned his neck to see what card Peter had received. His eyes widened. "Blimey," he breathed.

"What?" His first thought was that the card must be defective or damaged. Things tended to break around Peter, often just after he'd gotten them. He'd learned to accept his bad luck.

"You've got a Dee." Belby regarded him with something like awe. "My brother says those are really rare. Had to buy his from a dealer. Paid forty Galleons for it."

"Guess I better hang on to it then," Peter said, stunned. He'd never gotten anything rare or valuable before and certainly never by accident. He didn't even collect Chocolate Frog Cards and had no clue which ones were valuable. He smiled. Forget the Dumbledore card; this was even better. His Hogwarts career was definitely off on the right foot. He put the card in the pocket of his robes.

Most of the rest of the journey passed uneventfully. Peter listened without much interest as Belby expounded upon the various virtues of Ravenclaw House and his ancestors' triumphs while at school. His great-grandfather had been Head Boy and Quidditch Captain, leading the team to three straight Cups. Peter scoffed inwardly. That was more than enough glory for anybody. His father would have called it showing off. It was all very well to be loved and admired but far better to be the quiet chap who did the thankless work. Heroes could fall, but the cogs in the machine always survived. His father was only an undersecretary in the Goblin Liaison Office, but he kept his job when more high-flying colleagues had been sacked. Still, it seemed impolite to say such things when Belby was so obviously proud of his heritage, so Peter stayed silent.

However, even he could only take so much bragging. When Belby started going on about how someone or other in his family had won a prize for Transfiguration in 1632, Peter decided that he had had enough. He excused himself to go to the loo.

The corridor was mostly deserted. A dark-haired boy around his own age was perusing a selection of sweets on the trolley. He seemed unable to decide. Finally, he removed a pouch from his robes and counted out eight Galleons. He took a whole handful of Droobles and two boxes of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. Peter gaped at the sight. Eight Galleons was more than his whole monthly allowance, and this boy had spent it like it was nothing. His father would have called that showing off, too, but Peter couldn't help but be a little jealous.

The next thing Peter knew, he had collided with a solid mass of flesh. He lost his balance and fell unceremoniously to the ground. A tall boy stood over him. His wand was half-drawn. He sneered. "Watch where you're going, you idiot! Or are you just blind?" Peter opened his mouth to apologize, but the only sound that came out was a terrified squeak. "Can't even speak properly to your betters. Pitiful." He withdrew his wand. "I suppose I'll have to hex some sense into you."

Peter whimpered. He didn't know any spells yet; there was no way he could defend himself. He closed his eyes and hoped whatever the other boy had planned didn't hurt too much. When nothing happened, he dared to open his eyes. The boy was staring at a point just to Peter's left. Peter looked over. The Chocolate Frog Card lay face up on the ground; it must have fallen out of his robes when he fell. The boy eyed it with undisguised greed. He was a collector too, it seemed. "Give me that, and I'll forget all about what happened."

For the briefest of moments, Peter considered saying no. The card was the first really nice thing he had ever gotten. Why should he give it up because some bully asked him to? Then good sense returned. He had no hope of fighting him off. The boy would hex Peter and take the card anyway. At least this way he had a chance to avoid pain.

"Leave him alone, Avery. Pick on someone who can defend himself, for Merlin's sake."

Peter whipped his head around to view his would-be savior. It was the boy who had bought so many sweets from the trolley. He twirled his wand between his thumb and forefinger, as if this scene before him were nothing more than a mildly amusing diversion. There was a hard glint in his gray eyes, though, that suggested he very much cared what happened, especially if it led to the opportunity to hex Avery into a jelly.

"Black. Mind your own business. I'm trying to conclude a business deal."

"I said, leave him alone. Last chance."

"Make me."

Black smiled. "Happy to oblige." Both boys raised their wands, shouting something that Peter, in his terror, could not understand. Black was faster, though. Avery went rigid and fell over as if he were a wax dummy someone had pushed over.

Peter stared at Avery and then back at Black. He had been magnificent. No fear or hesitation, just a hex on somebody who had bothered him. Peter figured Black never had to give up his Chocolate Frog Cards to anybody. "Thanks," he said. He scrambled to his feet.

"No problem. My name's Sirius, by the way."

Sirius Black. Something fell into place for Peter. He had heard of the Black family. They were an old family, stretching back to the Middle Ages. "Think they're better than everyone else," his mother had said. Braggarts, his father had called them. Peter wondered if it was still bragging if they really were better than most people. He recalled something else he had heard about them; they were all in Slytherin, every last one. He now knew which house he wanted to be in.

He realized Sirius was still waiting for an introduction. "I'm Peter Pettigrew."

"Well, Peter Pettigrew, I'd suggest returning to your compartment. It wouldn't do for somebody to find you standing over Avery like that. I don't mind getting detention my first day, but you don't seem like the type."

--

The crowd of first years milled in the Entrance Hall, waiting. They had been told that they were going to be sorted very soon, but nobody seemed to be sure what that would consist of. A greasy-haired boy was sure there was going to be an exam of some kind, while Belby told everyone who would listen that it involved fighting a dragon.

Peter had spent the last five minutes trying to both avoid Avery and get Sirius' attention. He had been only half successful. Avery was busy cursing Sirius to anybody who would listen and seemed to have forgotten Peter entirely. Sirius himself, however, was engaged in conversation with another black-haired boy. From the snippets Peter had been able to pick up, they seemed to be taking great glee in abusing all Slytherins, everywhere. This confused Peter. Why would Sirius disparage the place he was sure to spend the next seven years?

The stern-faced woman who had come to collect them earlier -- McGonagall, he thought the name was. She motioned for silence, and Peter thought she must have cast a spell of some kind because everyone stopped talking. "Form a line, please," she said. "The Sorting Ceremony is about to begin."

At last, the doors to the Great Hall opened. There was a collective gasp. Rows upon rows of lighted candles hovered over four long tables. Where the ceiling should have been, there was only a starry sky. Amidst the sea of students sitting at the tables were occasional transparent figures. Ghosts, he realized. He had known there were ghosts at Hogwarts, of course, but he hadn't expected there to be so many. He hadn't expected any of this. His parents had never told him that the place was so beautiful, so wonderful.

Professor McGonagall walked to the front of the hall. She produced a grubby-looking hat and placed it on a stool. For a moment, nothing happened. Then a rip in the hat's brim opened, and it began to sing. Peter's eyes widened; he had seen many strange and astonishing things in his life, but he had never seen a singing hat before. He looked around and was pleased to note that he was far from the only shocked first year. Belby looked positively downcast at the lack of dragons. Peter was so surprised that he could not even pay proper attention to the song. He gathered that they were supposed to put the hat on to be sorted, but that was the extent of his comprehension.

At last, the hat finished singing, and everyone applauded. McGonagall unrolled a long parchment. "When I call your name, you will come forward and place the Sorting Hat on your head. It will then sort you into the proper house." She consulted the parchment. "Avery, John."

Avery placed the hat on his head with a scowl. The hat had scarcely touched his head before it shouted, "SLYTHERIN!" The Slytherin table applauded loudly. Peter's stomach lurched. He did not want to be in the same house as Avery, but he desperately wanted to be in the same house as Sirius. Would one balance out the other? Would the hat even place him into Slytherin? He wasn't cunning. He wasn't ambitious either, unless he counted his desire to be placed in that house.

A very pleased Belby was put into Ravenclaw. At last, it was Sirius Black's turn. He swaggered down to the hat and put it on his head. The hat took longer than normal to decide. Sirius appeared to be muttering under his breath; Peter would have sworn that he was arguing with it.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

The Great Hall broke into a low murmur. The Gryffindors themselves did not seem to believe it; there were several open mouths at the table. Sirius ignored them and took his place as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Peter bit his lip. He had to convince the Sorting Hat that he was brave enough for Gryffindor, that he was worthy enough to be in the same house as Sirius Black. But how? If he were unsuited for Slytherin, he was even more unfit for Gryffindor. His altercation with Avery had proven that.

He spent the next few minutes trying to think of ways to increase his bravery until finally it was his turn. He approached the hat and hoped his nervousness did not show too much. That would never do. The hat was much larger than his head and completely covered his eyes. He waited.

"What have we here?" asked a small voice. "A good mind, though you don't believe it. Plenty of cunning, as well. What shall I do with you?"

Gryffindor, I want to be in Gryffindor.

"Ah, yes. The Black boy made quite an impression on you, didn't he? Still, I think your original choice was best. You would make a fine Slytherin."

Please put me in Gryffindor. I'll do anything.

"As you wish. Never let it be said that I didn't give you what you want. Of course, you'll have to live with your choice-- and your friends." Then, to the crowd: "GRYFFINDOR!"

The Gryffindor table cheered. Peter walked over to them in a daze. He'd actually done it! He was a Gryffindor! People were congratulating him and clapping him on the back. It was the most wonderful feeling in the world, better than a hundred rare Chocolate Frog Cards. There was an empty space beside Sirius, and Peter took it. He was certain they were going to be very good friends.