Of Mouse And Man

*******Summer, 1965********

"Mummy, when's Daddy going to be home?" The little boy walked over to the window yet again.

"Soon, dear," Ariane said absently. "Now come away from the window. Your father should be here any minute, hopefully in time to catch the train. Travelling by Floo Powder would be much easier, but he's sold the house to Muggles and had to disconnect the Network." The last sentence was spoken as if to herself in a quieter petulant tone, with an unpleasant emphasis on the word Muggles.

No, the familiar figure was not coming up the walkway. Of course, Daddy didn't have to come up the walkway--Peter knew that Daddy could Apparate, but only when Muggles weren't around. Peter wasn't entirely sure what Muggles were, but he knew the neighbours were ones and that Mummy didn't like them. That was why they were moving. That, and Daddy's promotion. Mummy didn't seem to like that either.

Turning away from the window, Peter heard a slight pop. He whirled around and yelled "Daddy!" Peter threw himself at the tired looking man who had suddenly appeared in the doorway. Richard Pettigrew hugged his son energetically, dropping a large briefcase bursting with papers in the process.

Ariane smiled rather coolly, and glanced at the briefcase.

"Ministry business," they said in unison.

Richard flushed, and began his usual apology. There was so much work lately, many new members in his department, including that pretty airhead of a new secretary who kept misplacing papers (Richard realised too late that his wife did not want to hear about the new secretary) and most importantly the nasty rumours about some wizard gone bad, which were beginning to be more than just rumours.

"Go get your bag," Ariane interrupted. Peter obediently ran off and Ariane turned to glare at her husband. "We need to leave," she glanced at her watch. " . . .Now to catch the train. At least we'll have a short holiday."

"Um . . . actually . . . you see, the way things are going, I'm not likely to have any time off for a while. Quite a long while, probably."

"First you were drafting your idiotic Muggle Protection Act, now some evil sorcerer comes up. How long are you going to have pressing business? And I suppose you've forgotten that we haven't found a house yet? Should I do that all by myself?"

"But that works out well!" Richard interjected quickly when she stopped to catch her breath. "You and Peter can stay a little longer with your mother. You wouldn't be bored like you have been here," he finished in a forced cheery tone.

"Oh certainly--staying with Mother, who has never quite forgiven me for having anything to do with you, should be bloody exciting. Either that or house hunting in the next godforsaken place the Ministry's sent you out to. Or, sent Peter and me out to while you're off on some business trip."

"Ariane, things have been difficult lately. The Department wants its officials to keep moving for safety reasons. I've told you about the increase in use of the Dark Arts. If I were an Auror I'd be home even less. Please--"

"Fine," she sighed. Even Peter recognised this argument which always ended with the same results. "Promise it won't be for long?"

"I promise. And as soon as this business with Evil Lord Whatsit finishes, we'll all have a holiday. Maybe we can convince your mother to go too, and strand her abroad." He continued, grinning evilly, "With Muggles."

Ariane smiled in spite of herself, remembering her mother's reaction the one time she had met Richard's mother, a Muggle. "Well, it will be good for Peter to make some friends with our kind."

"I think the Potters have a boy about his age," Richard smiled down at Peter, who had just reappeared with a small bag and a teddy bear. "Think you can survive a few weeks with your grandmother?"

Peter nodded solemnly as his father picked him up. Ariane looked at the two and giggled (somehow Teddy had replaced Richard's hat), and the family walked out the door.

*******Several Months Later*******

"Where's Daddy?"

"Daddy's working very hard, but he'll be here soon. Why don't you open that lovely package from Auntie?"

"NO! I want Daddy!"

"He promised he'd be here in time for cake. He'll be here. Maybe his meeting ran a little late."

"Don't be absurd Ariane. He's not coming. Come to Grandmother, Peter."

The embers in the fireplace suddenly burst into flame. A face appeared, and Judith Rabnott sauntered out of the room with an air of 'I told you so'.

"I'm very sorry dear, but we've had a bit of a crisis to deal with." The flames caused odd shadows to appear on the face, or had the face really become that drawn? Not that I would know, she thought bitterly, I haven't seen him for over a month.

"So you'll be a little later than you thought?" Ariane asked, knowing the answer.

"No. I have enough time to wish Peter a happy birthday, then off to a meeting with the department head. I'm sure the Aurors will catch this one soon, and then I'll have some time off."

Ariane shook her head and turned around. Peter was sitting sulkily in the corner, trying unobtrusively to open what looked like a toy broomstick. At her call, he reluctantly put down the toy and came over to by the fireplace.

"Peter! It's Daddy." She pulled him closer to the fire, holding him tightly. "He's very busy with an important meeting and won't be able to come home today."

"But he promised!" Peter protested.

"I know he did," she said in a brittle voice, looking away.

"Happy Birthday Peter! Do you like the broomstick?" asked Richard, oblivious as always.

"Actually, he hasn't opened it yet."

"Oh. Well, I'm sure you'll like it. Love you both. Got to go!" He disappeared.

"Bye, Daddy!"

"Goodbye. Come on Peter, let's go open that broomstick."

Peter ran over to the shiny pile of presents, not noticing the odd tone of his mother's voice. Judith re-entered the room and sat down by the fire.

"He's not coming?" she asked.

"No, Mother. He's just so busy lately."

"When hasn't he been busy? Not that it's a surprise; he's simply trying to convince others that he's so useful it doesn't matter that he's a halfblood."

"Mother! Just because you hang on to ridiculous old prejudices, doesn't mean the rest of us do." Ariane said, outraged.

"It's a pity Peter looks like his father," she continued, ignoring Ariane's outburst. "Hopefully he has your ability. At least you had the sense to bring him here, so he won't grow up with Muggles. Maybe we should have invited the Malfoy boy."

"Who'd feel the same way you do. Apparently some are unaware that we have progressed since Salazar Slytherin's day. So Peter should make friends with other snobby old families who will look down on him because of his father, and resign himself to being a second class citizen among your kind." Not waiting for an answer, Ariane joined her son with his presents, fiercely determined to enjoy herself.

"My kind? Of course, Ariane dear, you might have thought of that before marrying that . . . Mudblood."

*******August, 1971*******

Peter jumped up and down excitedly, waving a folded parchment. "MUM! The letter!"

"Are you sure? You haven't opened it yet," Ariane teased. She lowered her voice, "I told you it would be here by your birthday, never mind what your grandmother said." Speak of the devil. Hearing the swish of long robes on the wood flooring, she and Peter moved toward the monstrous dining table. Three lonely places waited at the far end, surrounded by every manner of breakfast food.

Judith Rabnott waltzed into the dinning room, and noticed the mess he had made of the usual neat stack of owl post. She looked at Peter and raised her eyebrows. Embarrassed, he yanked his chair out, nearly upsetting it in the process. He sank into it and focused his attention on the large bowl of porridge the houselves had so kindly provided. The parchment dropped to the floor. She looked at him again, this time with a very faint quizzical expression that he found somewhat insulting.

"Yes, it is my Hogwarts letter," he said defiantly.

"Lovely dear," she said calmly, while spreading jam on a piece of toast. Between bites, her eyes darted toward him. Peter shovelled in the rest of the porridge, waiting for her to speak. After slowly consuming the toast, she spoke again. "We'll have to go to Diagon Alley to get your supplies. Maybe you'd like a new broom."

"Really?" Peter asked tentatively. She nodded. "Could I get a Nimbus 1000?" He said hopefully--on the slight chance that she actually meant it, he might as well go for the best. Grandmother noticing him and not making disparaging remarks about his father was something new.

"Of course. Quidditch is a bit of a family tradition. You know where the Snitch came from, of course." Cue boring lecture.

"I wonder what house you'll be in?" Judith looked at him pointedly.

Peter shook his head and looked sick. I'll be a Hufflepuff, he thought. What answer did she want? He waited for some comment about not having enough brains for Ravenclaw (the usual house for the Rabnotts), but it didn't come. Gryffindors are supposed to be brave, so . . .

"Gryffindor, like Dad. Though . . .um . . . Slytherin wouldn't be bad. Slytherin would be good, actually. Very good." he finished weakly. Grandmother had been a Slytherin.

"It doesn't matter, the Hat will know what house you belong in," Ariane commented quickly. She recalled her own Sorting and the reactions of her parents. "Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff wouldn't be bad either."

Ignoring Ariane, Judith said, "Unlike Gryffindor, it takes some brains to be in Slytherin." She stared at Peter for a moment. "We'll see soon enough."

********September 1, 1971*******

"Firs' years over here!"

Peter joined the large group of nervous eleven-year-olds. He walked slowly, carefully scanning the faces for anyone he knew. He felt miserable. All the other children seemed to know someone, even some obnoxious Muggle-born who was babbling loudly. Grandmother's snide comments about his father made him nervous about making friends with children from old wizarding families. She'd also made sure that associating with anyone else was an affront to the family honour.

He would have gone looking for someone he knew during the train ride, but unfortunately he suffered from terrible motion sickness and spent the entire journey concentrating on not being sick. And now he was expected to get into a boat. Peter wondered fleetingly what it would be like to go through school known as the one who was violently ill all over the gamekeeper. He also wondered what the gigantic gamekeeper's reaction would be and decided that he'd rather not know.

"Peter! Over here!" A familiar voice interrupted his pity party. Where had he heard it before? Had he lived near this person? Maybe it was the offspring of someone Grandmother knew. Yes, that seemed right. Of course! The voice belonged to . . .

"James!" he answered, and ran over to the other boy. He knew James slightly, as the Rabnott home was close to the Potters, and their grandmothers liked to gossip. Of course, Medea Malfoy was part of that little circle too, and Peter doubted that her grandson Lucius (currently strutting around with a Prefect badge and shouting orders) was inclined to be friendly to him.

Peter scrambled into the boat next to James and two others he didn't know. He took a deep breath and concentrated on not being sick. In the few minutes it took to get to the castle, he learned that his companions were Remus and Sirius. Both were friendly, though Remus seemed anxious. Probably the Sorting, Peter thought. He was certainly nervous. All of them wanted to be in Gryffindor, though Remus suggested that Ravenclaw wouldn't be that bad.

"What about you?" asked James.

"Err . . . Mum and Dad were Gryffindors. They'll never come out and say it, but I think they're hoping I'll be one, too. "

"Same here," said James. Remus nodded in agreement.

"Mum was a Ravenclaw and Dad a Hufflepuff, and both want me in their house. Only boy, y'see," said Sirius. "Maybe I can surprise them and end up in Slytherin." He attempted a cunning expression and failed miserably. James, Peter, and Remus laughed and Sirius adopted a wounded air. Peter's laugh turned to a nervous giggle but he relaxed when he saw the other boy's grin. "Not likely, is it?"

Something rammed against the boat. Peter jumped, and realised that they had reached the castle. Startled, he climbed out and started down the corridor. The group of first years was nearly silent as they walked into the Great Hall. Peter reminded himself to breathe and looked at the ceiling. The stars were amazing.

Fascinated by the ceiling, he didn't notice the line had stopped, and bumped into the girl in front of him. She whipped around, nearly causing her long red braid to whack him in the face. He mumbled an apology, and she smiled at him before turning around. He was amused to notice that she was nervous-- she apparently was also worrying about finding herself on the floor for lack of oxygen.

A shooting star streaked across the sky. Peter watched it curiously, though everyone else was focused on the Sorting Hat. A teacher calling off names snapped his attention back to the hall. The Sorting had begun.

"Black, Sirius!" she called. Sirius got his wish, and was quickly Sorted into Gryffindor.

"Evans, Lily!" The Hat took a bit of time with that one, finally settling on . . .

"GRYFFINDOR!"

How many Gryffindors can there be? Is there a set number? The number of older students at the tables looks the same for each house. What if I do have what it takes to be a Gryffindor but all the places are taken? Could I be a Slytherin? I don't want to be a Slytherin, whatever Grandmother wants. I don't think the Slytherins would want me to be a Slytherin.

Peter began to feel sick again. He started to concentrate on the names and realised that the Hat was, in fact, putting people in other houses--Longbottom, Frank had just become a Ravenclaw. Peter sighed with relief, and waited impatiently for his turn.

More and more names were called. Some part of him registered that Remus Lupin became a Gryffindor, and he nearly began to panic again. Margaret McKinnnon joined the Hufflepuff table, and Something or Other Nott, who Peter believed to be a second cousin or something, was Sorted into Slytherin. Almost time, he thought. BREATHE! The Hat called . . . yes, it was his name.

"Pettigrew, Peter!" Shaking slightly, Peter ran up and put the Hat on his head. Whatever happened, he wanted to get it over with.

"Pettigrew. Yes, I remember your father. He was very easy--brave but not too big on brains. Now, what about you? Hmmm . . . Not quite a Ravenclaw, though you wouldn't do too badly there . . ."

Ravenclaw? Take that Grandmother. Peter felt very proud of himself.

"Oh? Well, if you want Ravenclaw . . . No, not quite right. Not hard working enough for Hufflepuff . . ."

Peter was offended--he'd tried to resign himself to boring Hufflepuff, then to be rejected! Well then, if you're going to insult me. Is there a house I'd fit into or are you planning to send me home? Remembering that the Hat could hear him, Peter cringed. How could I have been so stupid? You're right--not Ravenclaw.

"Oh good. You're going to be interesting. I do love a challenge. I don't think you'd do well in Slytherin, not enough ambition and too much of a follower. Hufflepuff's out, but Ravenclaw is a possibility. Or maybe Gryffindor? Not the most courageous I've seen, but the potential is there. Yes, I think it will be . . . GRYFFINDOR!"

Relieved, Peter pulled off the Hat and handed it off to James Potter, who was looking a little green. Peter ran off to join the Gryffindor table, grinning like an idiot. He sat down by the other first years and was soon joined by James. Sirius moved over to make room and James sat down. His facial expression was similar to Peter's, and was mirrored in the faces of Remus and Sirius. Peter felt absurdly happy.

*******October 1971*******

The strap broke, causing papers to go flying all over the corridor. Even worse, an inkbottle had broken. Half of his books and a notebook were covered in black ink. Transfiguration notebook, too Peter thought glumly as he gathered his books. What else could go wrong? He shuddered, remembering his attempt to turn a matchstick into a needle. He had succeeded, but with a bit of a delayed reaction. The forgotten needle waited until Potions an hour later to transform into a match. The match had also been on fire. Now, he'd left his potions kit in the classroom and had to go back for it. The rest of the gang had run off to the greenhouses for their next class, and he there was no way he could catch up with them.

He stuffed the ink-covered mess back into the ripped satchel, noting with dismay that the notebook was unreadable. He'd deal with that later. Maybe if he ran, he could slip into class without being noticed. Determined to get to class on time, Peter grabbed his satchel and rushed down the hallway, intent on not dropping any papers. He skidded around the corner, straight into a group of first year Slytherins. They were not a pleasant looking bunch.

"Pettigrew," one of them snarled. Peter looked up at Nott and began to apologise. Seeing his expression, Peter stopped in the middle of a sentence. Obviously this was not the time for a family reunion. Something like this always happened when he tried to mix with his grandmother's kind of people. Terrified, he tried to grab his bag and run.

"Trying to run away?" asked one. "Not a bad idea, you can run all the way home to your Mummy. We don't want your kind here."

"He'll be gone soon enough--weren't you in Transfiguration today?" another said, and his companions sniggered. He picked something off the floor and started throwing it back and forth. "Don't waste our time with this disgrace. Would be nice if we could actually learn stuff without being held back by a Squib."

Ignoring the insult, Peter cautiously got to his feet as the Slytherins cackled. Realising that no one was going to stop him, he sprinted down the corridor. After turning the corner and breathing a sigh of relief, it dawned on him what the Slytherin had been holding. Damn!

Maybe if I ask nicely, he'll give it back. Peter's inner voice snorted. Not bloody likely. Some humiliation probably. Why me? Can't they pick on someone else? Why don't they ever bother Remus--quiet, studious, and has a habit of disappearing? Of course, Remus would stand up to them. Always Peter the little mouse, he thought with disgust.

"I wonder if he'll miss it?" asked . . .Severus. For some reason, being able to identify his tormentor made Peter feel better. He wasn't an insignificant Squib. Peter's practical skills might not be too good, but neither were Severus'. Actually, the only thing the tall, greasy-haired boy seemed to be good at was Potions. Not much of a threat there. Now if it were DADA, or even Charms . . .

"Probably not. It's not like he could use it," said Lestrange. "His father can't either. He works with mine, and can barely Apparate to work each day. See what happens when our kind mix with the Mudbloods?" The others snickered. Peter had appeared again, shaking slightly. The group spread out, surrounding him.

"You mean his father isn't a Muggle?" Snape said with mock surprise, waving Peter's wand just out of reach.

He was about to continue, but was interrupted by Peter's fist. Aghast at what he had done, Peter stood there staring the blood coming from Snape's nose. Snape also seemed to be in a state of shock. Then Peter grinned stupidly; he'd stood up for himself! Actually, he had been aiming for the eye, but a bloody nose wasn't bad. For another five seconds the two boys stared at each other. Then, everything went black.

*****

Peter opened his eyes. Or more correctly, he opened one eye. Putting a hand up to his face, he found the other to be swollen shut. With further painful exploration, he found a large bump on his forehead and what must have been a bloody nose. Everything hurt. A lot. Looking around, he eventually determined that he was in the hospital wing. It took another minute for him to remember exactly why he was there. Peter didn't think it was possible, but moving had made him hurt even more. Peter was reminded why he usually ignored the insults.

"Here he is!" He turned his head painfully to see James, Sirius, and Remus. They were all smiling, and after seeing that he was awake, all started talking at the same time.

"Wow! I didn't think you had it in you."

"Of course he did. He's a Gryffindor."

"Feeling better? We brought you some chocolate frogs."

"Your face looks pretty bad, but so does Snape's. Madam Pomfrey wouldn't do anything for him because it was his fault."

"Yeah, and Pennifold took 20 points from Slytherin! We only lost 5."

"An entire 20 points! Wish I could have seen the look on his greasy face."

"Well, Snape's got a really nasty black eye. We'll get to see that tomorrow!"

"Can't wait. I wish I could punch him and get away with it. How'd you do it?"

"He took my wand, and um, he said something about my father." Peter said uncomfortably.

"That git! No wonder you hit him. Y'know, Godric Gryffindor was Muggle- born."

"Really?" Peter, Remus and Sirius all asked with varying degrees of disbelief.

"Of course. We're descended from him, and I should know. Dad has this really cool old sword . . ."

Gryffindor was Muggle-born. Wow. I don't care what Grandmother says. I have nothing to be ashamed of. I do belong in Gryffindor, and no one can dispute that now. Peter had forgotten that he had lost the fight quite spectacularly, but since it was five against one, no one cared. He had a splitting headache, and couldn't move without pain, but Peter had never felt better.

*******Christmas Break, 1971*******

"No, that's my bag!"

"Is not!"

The Hogwarts Express pulled into the station, gleaming brightly amid the falling snow. Talking animatedly, the students gathered their belongings and made their way to the platform where their parents were waiting. The train quickly emptied while Remus and Peter squabbled over their bags. Finally sorting out which item went with who (a continuation of an argument begun in the dormitory late the night before) the boys walked out, staggering under the weight of their full trunks.

"Hang on, I left my school bag in the compartment." With a thick scarf wrapped around his neck and an armload of books in front of his face, Peter's voice was muffled to the point of being barely understandable. He tried to shift the books, and nearly fell over. For the umpteenth time, he cursed his lack of height.

Sirius rolled his eyes. He and James had been waiting on the train for twenty minutes. "Hurry," he said, unable to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

"We've been waiting forever," contributed James.

"You guys go on. I think I may have dropped it somewhere."

"No, we'll wait. Anyway, we want to meet your dad. He sounds really great."

"Just go. You can meet him when we go back to school," Peter said nervously. He'd told the others all about his wonderful father, only to receive an owl informing him that Mum and Dad were going to be abroad for Christmas. Richard was required to attend an international meeting for international co-operation, and Ariane insisted on joining him. Unfortunately, this meant that Peter would spend the holidays with his grandmother. There was no way he would let his friends see him picked up by one of Judith's servants. It's not like Mum and Dad have forgotten about me, he reasoned. Dad said we'd go to a Quidditch match over the break, and he'll take some time off. Maybe we can do it over Easter, and the guys will see that I haven't been lying

"Sorry, but I've got to go." The others agreed, and began to meander toward their parents.

Peter half-waved in the general direction of the platform and dashed back into the train. Once inside, he dumped his stuff on the floor and sat down, resting his head on his knees. After a moment, he rummaged in his satchel, finally coming out with a note he'd received a few days before. He glanced through it, rereading certain passages. Ariane's writing seemed so cheerful. Everything will work out. As soon as this wizard gone bad is caught, things will be better at home.

Peter took out a piece of toffee from the most recent package from home--his roommates were all jealous of the large parcels of candy he got every week. He slowly chewed the toffee while rereading the letter. Swallowing, he looked at his watch and got to his feet. He clumsily hoisted his trunk onto an abandoned trolley and exited the train.

Squinting to see through the snow, he made out a single figure standing on the platform. It was not a houself. Sighing, he walked toward her, ready to be lectured for keeping her waiting. There was no doubt in his mind that it was worth it--he most certainly did not want his friends to meet Grandmother.

*******December 25, 1971*******

Peter sat on the stairs, idly flipping through the Quidditch section of the Daily Prophet and desperately wishing he had received an invisibility cloak for Christmas. The thought of spending the break with his grandmother was depressing enough; he had forgotten about her annual holiday party. In less than an hour, all the old wizarding families that Judith was not currently feuding with (the tally seemed to change hourly) would descend on the house to spend several hours consuming alcohol in excess and complaining about how awful things were--their grandchildren were expected to associate with Muggle-borns. In their day . . . For some perplexing reason, Peter found these discussions just slightly uncomfortable.

I guess none of them bother to read the Daily Prophet. They wouldn't be so superior if they knew just how much Dad was doing to keep them safe. Maybe they aren't worried about the increase in use of the Dark Arts, but some of us realise what a problem it is. Dumbledore certainly knows. Without Dad, the Aurors would have to waste their time in the library looking up stuff instead of catching evil wizards. The Department would go to pieces if they didn't know the countercurse for the Incommodo Curse. It hasn't been used for ages, but since Dad found it in an old book the Aurors were prepared when the dark wizards started using it.

Peter folded up yesterday's Daily Prophet, careful to keep the large portrait of the staff of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement on the top. Smiling broadly, second row left, was Richard Pettigrew.

What seemed like a lifetime later, Peter awkwardly tried to make his way through the crowd of party guests. He was hoping that something would distract Judith and he could sneak off. But she had anticipated that. There she was, standing right in front of the door to prevent such an escape. She caught his eye and made it quite clear that he was to remain in the room. Then, she motioned for him to come over.

What have I done now? Can't they whine some more about Dumbledore being made headmaster? Peter thought for the millionth time just how much he missed his friends. Oddly enough, in their company he didn't feel so tongue-tied. For once, he was almost comfortable with others his own age.

"Peter! We were just talking about your parents," said Judith cheerily. Peter stood next to her, moving from one foot to another in an agitated manner. Here it comes, he thought. Only it didn't. Either she had consumed too much punch (Peter thought she was still on her first glass, but he was more than willing to concede that he could be mistaken) or she had taken the latest issue of Witch Weekly--'Terrific Tips and Stupendous Spells for a Heart-Warming Holiday'--to heart. That seemed incredibly unlikely.

"Yes, I heard that Richard was appointed to the International Committee for Magical Co-operation. Quite an honour." The group of crones laughed. Peter smiled tensely- What is going on?

The rest of the evening passed equally oddly. Peter was confused, but this seemed a change for the better. When the last guest had finally left, Judith turned to him and smiled. She even attempted to hug him, though Peter managed to step out of the way.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" she asked.

"Err . . .no. It was a very nice evening." That sounded convincing.

"That's good. I'm so pleased that you are finally getting accepted by the old families. Your father's appointment has helped a great deal. And you've got more talent than he ever has."

"Tell Severus Snape or Lucius Malfoy that," muttered Peter.

"What was that?" she asked sharply.

"Um . . . yes, Grandmother."

She obviously didn't buy it. "It doesn't matter. You're friends with James Potter, aren't you? I think I remember Ariane reading a letter. Yes- him, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. There was some odd rumour about the Lupin boy, but the others sound nice."

Remus? Well, he does disappear once a month. Something about his mum being sick. Probably some weird spell gone wrong.

"I do wish you'd try to become friends with Edmund Lestrange. Such a nice boy, and from an old family," Judith looked slightly miffed that her grandson did not have an instinctive talent for worming his way in with Nice People. "Oh, I nearly forgot about your Christmas present. I was trying to get permission for you to have a broom, but we can't break the rules."

"What? I mean, umm, I thought you already gave it to me."

She laughed. "No, what little boy wants new clothes for Christmas?"

That's it. She's gone mad. Too bad I couldn't get a broom out of it, though.

Peter watched apprehensively as she pulled out a beribboned package. He looked at her, trying to discern if it was some sort of joke. She nodded for him to open it, and Peter eagerly tore off the paper. A large gift box from Obscurus Books was revealed.

"A copy of Olde and Forgotten Bewitchments and Charmes and . . .WOW! A first edition of Hogwarts, A History." Peter sat down on the floor, staring in amazement at the perfect gift. He spent a lot of time in the Hogwarts library when James and the gang weren't around- at first because no one else went there, but then because he liked the books.

"I take it you like them?"

"Do I like them? Of course! Oh--thank you Grandmother." Ecstatic, Peter hugged her. She looked surprised for a moment, and then smiled at him.

"So I'm not so old and out of touch that I can't get something that my grandson really likes." Peter refrained from telling her that he was nearly certain that no one else of his generation would be so pleased with such a gift. "Now don't stay up all night reading, you'll have plenty of time in the morning." He thanked her again, and went up the stairs to his room.

After falling asleep over his books, Peter woke up in the middle of the night. At this point it occurred to him that his grandmother's behaviour (By Merlin, everyone's behaviour) had been a little odd. What's so odd about them finally realising that Dad's worth something? Most of them were Slytherins- it's not surprising that they're ambitious and want to get on the good side of those in positions of power. Reassured, he went back to sleep.

The rest of the week passed quickly. Ariane and Richard returned a few days before the end of the break. Both were very happy, though Peter noticed some tension between his dad and grandmother. Not that this was anything unusual. His parents even escorted him to the station; Richard standing off to the side, obviously itching to Disapparate back to work and Ariane hovering over her son. Both attitudes annoyed Peter, but he was sad to see them go.