1. Arrival and Welcome by Hermione_Rocks
2. Advice and Meetings by Hermione_Rocks
3. Alcohol and Decisions by Hermione_Rocks
He just needed to get away for a bit, was all. Just for a little while.
But as Peter Pettigrew continued walking aimlessly down the cobbled road, he became less and less sure of his plan for an ‘unscheduled and unplanned vacation’. What exactly had been going through his head when he packed his bags, anyway? That he would somehow find, as he walked down a deserted road, a little paradise inn?
For the umpteenth time, Peter nervously fingered the luggage cases in his pocket (he had reduced them to doll-size upon leaving on his trek). What the hell was he doing? What good was this simple-minded adventure going to do?
You’re worthless. No matter where you go, no matter what you do, you are worthless.
That’s all he had ever been, he’d realized recently. And that’s all he would ever be. He could never live up to James, Sirius, and Remus. They had always been cooler, brighter, kinder, braver, and just all around better than him.
During their school days it had always been the four of them. They were the Marauders. James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter. Nobody in the school would say one’s name without adding the other threes’. They were a unit; they were a team; they were friends.
And Peter had held his own among them No, he was not the smartest nor the most charming of the group; but he was certainly not a little leftover tag-along who was only tolerated by the others out of pity. He was brave when it counted; he always enjoyed a good prank or two; he could pass his classes with a fair amount of ease; and he’d had several steady girlfriends.
But recently…things had started changing.
After graduation (with great marks for all the Marauders), the four had begun to look into career options. James and Sirius had turned towards the Ministry; Remus to a local bookstore (as there were few places that would accept werewolves for jobs); Peter a position at the Apothecary. What he really wanted to become was a professor at Hogwarts, but that wasn’t possible until he was a bit older.
About a month later, the four friends were invited by Dumbledore to join the elite group called the Order of the Phoenix, a group whose mission was to vanquish Voldemort and his followers. Remus, James, and Sirius had all become active members, but Peter had fallen into their shadows. He had suddenly begun to notice how much more skilled and brave his friends were. He felt useless compared to them, compared to all the members. But it was more than that “ he wanted to be better.
All his life he had been pushed slightly to the side: By his parents, who had never really wanted him in the first place. By the other kids at school, who sometimes taunted and jeered at his appearance or personality. By his friends who, unintentionally, always outshone him in talents. And now by the fellow members of the Order. And he was tired of it, tired of being mediocre.
“You’re going to be a great wizard, Peter,” his grandmother, one of the few who had ever truly cared for him, used to whisper in his ear at night. “You’re going to do great things.”
So much for those words. He had accomplished nothing great. He was not great. He was Peter Pettigrew, un-great in all respects.
He wasn’t even great at simply booking a stay at a pub, for heaven’s sake!
Perhaps he should Apparate back to his (un-great) apartment. This was truly pointless. He had been walking for Merlin only knew how long on this deserted road to nowhere. It wasn’t as though people suddenly became important by walking down an empty road.
Peter sighed, and watched a rodent scurry down the street. That’s what he should do. Transform and go live a great life in the sewers. Perfect. He was already doing just that as a human “ why not try it as a rat? It could be a nice change of scenery, at least.
He watched the rodent absently, meandering slowly behind it. The rat scampered ahead, then suddenly veered to the left, diving between two wooden posts. Peter lost sight of the rat in the tall grass. His eyes then traveled up the two wood posts to see an old looking sign. In faded black paint, the words Green Dragon were printed there.
Peter looked beyond the sign, and squinted into the mist. A faint outline of a building could be made out. Curiously, he ventured towards it.
The building had clearly been around for awhile, what with the tainted wood and tilting appearance; yet it was far from neglected. The small windows were clean, the tiny deck spotless, the sign hanging above the building sturdy. Peter gently pushed on the door and entered the building.
It was a small but nice looking little pub. The room was circular shaped, with tables and chairs littered across the floor, and several seats at the bar counter. Behind the counter was an old man cleaning a glass and talking with one of his customers. Off to the side of the room was a staircase, that he concluded must lead up to rooms.
Peter walked towards the barman, who smiled kindly when he saw the young man. “Hello,” he said amicably. Like the building, he gave the impression of being very old, but certainly not unpleasant. He had black hair that was going gray cut roughly; hair stuck out on all ends. He was of short stature, and had a lined and wrinkled face. His eyes were brown, so shiny that you could nearly see yourself reflected in them if you looked hard enough.
“Hi,” Peter greeted. “Do you have any rooms here? To stay?”
“Yes we do, right up that way.” He pointed to the stairway.
“Alright, I’d like to book a room for one for…one night.”
The man’s eyes twinkled as he scribbled something down on a piece of paper. “That won’t be a problem. You can stay as long as you want, in fact. And your name?”
“Peter Pettigrew.”
“Righty-o.” He tossed Peter a key. “My name is Blenkinsop Waterbut.” He grinned, revealing (surprisingly) very white teeth. “Welcome to the Green Dragon, Peter.”
The room was rather cozy. There was one full sized bed, a wooden dresser, and a little table with several chairs. Peter did not have a great sleep in the room, but at least it was not a fitful night, which was what he had been experiencing lately.
He cleaned himself up in the small bathroom attached to his room, dressed, and went down the stairs. He plunked himself down at the counter.
Blenkinsop seemed to appear out of nowhere from under the counter. “Good morning,” he said smilingly.
A part of Peter wanted to smack that smile right off the older man’s face, but instead he forced himself to smile politely back. “Hello.”
“Can I get you anything?”
“Well, I’m leaving today, but I’ll have a breakfast before I go on my way.”
Blenkinsop nodded and handed him a menu with roughly five food items on it. Peter ordered some eggs, and the pub owner cheerfully fixed some up.
After the barman placed the food in front of him, Peter began eating steadily. He was surprised at how hungry he found himself; he hadn’t been eating right in days due to his inadequate feelings. With a new hearty appetite, he finished the eggs with record speed, and then ordered a large plate of sausages.
What’s this, Peter “ think you’re going to become great by getting fatter?
The thought made his fork hover uncertainly for a moment over his sausage links, but then he speared a piece and shoved it in his mouth. He may be un-great, he decided, but not eating wasn’t going to help him any. How the hell could he become great if he starved to death?
As Peter continued pursuing his food, he observed the other people in the bar. There was a dark-skinned woman who was quite obviously pregnant sitting at one of the corner tables. Two shabby looking men were sitting several tables away, hunched over their mugs of tea and occasionally speaking in dreary tones to one another. And there was another lone figure a few seats away from him at the counter, whom was so thickly wrapped in robes and coats that Peter could not tell what gender they were.
Then he looked over at Blenkinsop, who was idly sitting on a stool behind the counter, scribbling things down on a clip board. After several moments, Blenkinsop glanced up and caught Peter watching him. Peter blushed and focused his eyes firmly on his food.
“Do you “ um “ get a good business?” he asked in a flustered tone, instantly realizing how rude this question was. What was his business how well this man was doing?
If Blenkinsop minded being asked a rather personal question, he did not show it. “Customer activity comes and goes, as with any job,” he replied easily.
Peter nodded, still feeling the warm tinge in his cheeks. “Have you, er, worked here long?”
“Since this place opened,” Blenkinsop said. “I began the business, and I plan to continue it. Might not be the most steady income, but I enjoy it.”
“You enjoy it?” Peter repeated stupidly.
“Yes, very much. Should I not?”
“Oh, no, you should,” said Peter hastily. “You definitely should “ I mean, you shouldn’t if you don’t, but since you do “ “ Good Merlin, what was he rambling on about? “ “ I’m glad you like it,” he finished, hoping he had managed to save his dignity at least a bit. “I think it’s great when people find something they want to do with their life that feels meaningful to them.”
Blenkinsop smiled, and ran a finger over his stubbled chin. “Yes, it is.”
“Did you always know what you wanted to do?”
Blenkinsop considered the young man before him for a moment, before saying, “No, not really. I spent a few years merely figuring out what I wanted to do with my life.”
“And “ how did you know when you’d figured it out?”
Blenkinsop was silent. He remained silent for so long, simply studying Peter, that the younger male began to wonder if he had crossed the line on personal questions. But he found that he truly wanted to know the answer, as though Blenkinsop would somehow reveal what the answer would be for him. So he kept his eyes firmly, boldly, on the barman’s, and waited.
“I’m not quite sure. I think you just know. You just somehow know that this is what you want to do, this is who you want to be. Everything should just seem clear.”
So much for helpful. What good were those lame, poetic words? They weren’t going to help him figure out anything. It was time to go.
Peter finished up his sausages and moved to go up the staircase to pack his things. As he was pulling out the key to his room, a familiar face emerged from the room next door.
Severus Snape’s features molded into a lazy smirk. “Pettigrew,” he greeted. “How very…unexpected…to see you here.”
“The same to you,” said Peter, tucking the key back into his pocket and turning to face Snape. “What brings you here?”
Snape’s eyes gleamed as he looked down his hooked nose at Peter. “I am here on business matters.”
“Business matters, eh, Snape?” Peter leered. “What would that mean?”
“As much as I would love to chat with a intellect such as yourself, I must be going,” said Snape. “I have matters that need attending to, and I happen to have a important dinner meeting scheduled tonight. Now if you will excuse me…” Snape brushed past Peter and swept down the stairs.
Peter’s eyes followed the other man down the stairs until he could see him no more. Peter then went back down the stairs curiously.
Just as he finished descending the steps, he saw Snape open the main door to the pub and slip out. The door swung shut behind him.
Peter’s mind was racing. If Snape was speaking the truth, that meant that he had clearly found something to do with his life. And clearly an important something, if he had a dinner meeting. How had that greasy git secured a job, a life, like that?
That was it. That was it. If that bastard could do it, so could he. He was going to find something meaningful, something purposeful, for his life.
The how was what he had to work on.
Peter stood staring blankly at the door, thousands of half-formed ideas flowing through his head. Then, on a whim, he moved towards the counter where Blenkinsop stood.
“Mr. Waterbut,” said Peter, “I think I’m going to be staying another night.”
How was it that he had never had Firewhiskey before in his life? It was good. Damn, it was good.
Downing his third glass that afternoon “ or was it his fifth “ no, it must have only been his second “ Peter tapped the bar with several fingers to cue Blenkinsop to refill his glass. The barman docily did as bid. Peter wondered vaguely how many glasses he would be permitted to have before Blenkinsop drew the limit. He would probably get drunk soon, anyhow. Maybe he was drunk. How can you tell if you’re drunk? he mused now, as he swallowed a large gulp of his ‘second’ glass. If it took me this long to realize I was useless, how long is it going to take for me to realize I’m drunk, if I’m not already?
He was confusing himself. He thought alcohol was supposed to num your senses, ease your thoughts. Maybe he hadn’t had enough. He banged his palm on the table for a refill.
Blenkinsop poured more Firewhiskey into the mug. Peter clasped his hands around the mug, but for some reason didn’t lift it, just stared into its depths.
“Something wrong with the whiskey?” Blenkinsop inquired.
Peter blinked at Blenkinsop, squinting. Had people always been so blurry around the edges, or did he just need glasses? He squinted for several more long moments, then realized that Blenkinsop had asked him a question, but couldn’t recall what it had been. Had it been, Have a good day with Keer? Make a wish on a peer? What are you doing here? With the little sense that Peter had remaining, he concluded that this was the most logical one, so he said, in response to the third, “I ran away.”
Blenkinsop’s mouth “ or was that an eyebrow? “ moved slightly. “Ah.”
Peter nodded. “Yeah, I ran away. Well, I guess I didn’t run away, because I didn’t have a lot to run away from, but I left.”
“Did you leave anything behind?” Blenkinsop asked, though not in an intruding way.
“No,” said Peter, “I packed my stuff and put it in some luggage bags.” He paused, and considered his glass of Firewhiskey. “I’m tired of it,” he announced abruptly.
“Oh?”
“Yeah, I’m tired of it,” Peter repeated, nodding at his glass though he was speaking to the barman. “I’m tired of just being useless, you know? I’ve never been anything other than that, and I’m tired of it. I’m tired of it!” he said again loudly, and slapped the table with his palm. Peter then grew calm again. “I’m not going to be useless anymore,” he told the alcohol with as much dignity as he could muster considering he was drunk.
“So what are you going to do, lad?” Blenkinsop asked quietly.
Peter looked up at Blenkinsop, seeming to notice he was standing there for the first time. “I’m going to be important,” he proclaimed boisterously, as though this were obvious, and Blenkinsop Waterbut could not have asked a stupider question. “I’m going to be great.”
Blenkinsop sat down opposite Peter, on a stool placed on the other side of the counter, so he was now eye level with the young man. “And how are you going to do that?”
Peter stared back for a few considerable moments, then his shoulders slumped and his eyes dropped back to his Firewhiskey. “I don’t know.” He gazed bleakly into the amber liquid, then unexpectedly pushed his mug away from here. “I don’t want this anymore,” he muttered.
Blenkinsop cleared the glass away, and kindly presented Peter with a cup of tea. “Drink up, lad,” he said, then moved on to help a customer who had just stumbled through the door.
Peter slurped some tea through numb lips. He was slightly amazed that the liquid didn’t dribble out of his mouth; he felt as though he had no control over his body. But somehow he managed to take a taste of the tea and swallow, and then managed to raise the cup to his lips again and drink.
When Blenkinsop returned to his position behind the bar counter, somehow Peter found himself saying, “My friends have found things to do with their lives.”
Blenkinsop looked at him.
“They’ve always been more talented than me,” Peter said. “But they were friends with me, though Merlin only knows why.”
“Were friends?” Blenkinsop said, perhaps knowingly.
“Well, I guess they still are, but I don’t deserve to be friends with them. I’m nobody great, I’m not great, and they’re…great.” Did alcohol affect your ability to find synonyms for words? He sounded like a bloody idiot who had maybe five words in his vocabulary. Great. Great. Great. “And I want to be great too.” Blast, there he went again. “I “ “
But he stopped as a vaguely familiar face entered the door. A man in his early twenties with long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, dressed regally in fine black robes lined with silver silk, now stood in the doorway. He scanned the room with sneering eyes, though his mouth was in a straight line. His smart black boots clicked across the floor as he walked.
“Good evening, Blenkinsop.”
“Hello, Lucius,” said Blenkinsop cordially. It seemed the two men knew each other.
“Not many customers today,” Lucius observed.
Blenkinsop smiled. “I have my busy days, and then some.”
“No complaints from me,” Lucius said with a lazy smile. “I’m meeting with someone, and with a quieter atmosphere it will be easier to talk.”
Blenkinsop nodded, and went back to cleaning a glass. Peter held his teacup close to his face, letting the warmth spread through his hands and feeling the steam tickle his face.
Lucius stood staring down his nose at the customers for several minutes, then he looked down at Peter. “Pettigrew, isn’t it?” he said with a poorly suppressed arrogant air.
“Yeah.”
“Yes, I remember you,” said Lucius slowly. “The little runt in Gryffindor.”
Though these words were far from kind, Peter paid them no mind. “What brings you here?” he said with a slur.
“Blenkinsop and I are old friends, so I come here on occasion.” Lucius nodded and smiled civilly at Blenkinsop, who returned it. But “ was it merely Peter’s large intake of alcohol, or was there something about Blenkinsop’s smile that wasn’t completely genuine?
“I am also here to greet an acquaintance of mine from Hogwarts,” said Lucius, drawing Peter away from this thought. “And…talk of the devil, here he is now. Good evening to you, Pettigrew.”
“Same,” Peter mumbled. Lucius left his range of eye-sight. Peter heard several chairs close behind him scrape the ground.
“Greetings, Severus. It’s been awhile since we’ve last met.”
“Yes, quite, it’s been far too long indeed,” Snape said, clearly mocking Lucius’ formality. “Cut the niceties, Lucius, and let’s get straight to the point.”
“Very well,” said Lucius, sounding amused but not annoyed by his friend’s blunt attitude. “But…that man…”
“Hmm? Pettigrew? Pfft, he’ll pay us no mind, even without alcohol he’s too slow to follow anything.”
“If you think so.” Lucius paused, slightly theatrically, then spoke again. “I’ve told him about you. He’s very interested in meeting you.”
Who the hell wanted to meet Snape? Lucius’ boss? Was this the important meeting Snape had referenced to earlier today? Then what…
“Well?” said Lucius expectantly.
“Well what?”
“Aren’t you going to say something about the fact that our lord is considering you?”
“Your lord, Lucius, your lord. He is not mine yet.”
“Yet,” Lucius echoed him, trying terribly hard to conceal the excitement in his voice. “Yet.”
“So, tell me, Lucius,” said Snape slowly. “What exactly does You-Know-Who “ “
“Call him the Dark Lord.”
Pettigrew sat up straight at that.
“I shall call him what I please. Now: what exactly does he expect of me? What does he want me to do?”
“Provide him with service, of course. Give him unwavering loyalty, and help him rid the world of filth. The Dark Lord thinks you sound promising, Severus. I have told him of some of your abilities, and he is impressed.”
“I remain unconvinced,” Snape remarked dryly. “What can your lord provide me?”
Lucius seemed thrown by this question; he did not answer immediately. “The honor of serving him should be enough, Severus,” he said at last. “And your blessing of such knowledge and skill should be put to good use. You can do better than working at Borgin and Burkes, my friend. Do the Dark Arts not fascinate you? Do you not long to study them up close, instead of mere relics in a shop?”
Lucius allowed these words to tantalize his friend for a moment. He called Blenkinsop over for a refill before speaking again. “It is a position of greatness, Severus,” he said luringly. “It is a job of great importance. Think of how you would be viewed, think of what you could do. You could be great.”
Peter’s ears were ringing; his mind racing. Thousands of possibilities zoomed in front of his mind, each just as tempting as the next, each just as wonderful.
Don’t get ahead of yourself, Peter, he told himself, as he sat on his stool, palms sweating. Maybe this isn’t a good idea, maybe you should “
But suddenly, impulsively, Peter swiveled around on his stool to face the other two men.
“I could,” he said, breaking the thick silence between Snape and Lucius.
Two heads turned simultaneously. Snape lifted an eyebrow at his peer. Lucius looked shocked and faintly amused. “Excuse me?” the blonde man asked.
“I could join,” said Peter, keeping his eyes locked on Lucius’ to show sincerity. “I could join. I want to join.”
“And what would make the Gryffindor rat decide this?” Snape asked, leering.
“I want to be important; I want to help You-Know “ the Dark Lord “ in his cause,” said Peter.
Lucius leaned back in his chair, stroking his chin thoughtfully and watching the scene unfold.
“What has brought on this change of heart?” Snape wanted to know. “Being a pawn in Dumbledore’s hand isn’t satisfactory to you anymore?”
“No, it’s not,” said Peter, his gaze level on Snape’s, his head surprisingly clear considering all the Firewhiskey. In fact, he did not think his thoughts had ever been clearer. “I have rethought my decisions, and I want to join you.”
Snape looked him over with black ice chips, then looked towards Lucius, who considered Peter, still stroking his chin. The two men stared at each other for several very lengthy minutes.
“What can you provide the Dark Lord, Pettigrew?” Lucius asked carefully.
Peter thought for a second. “I can be a spy.”
“What?”
“I’m a member of the Order, an organization that Dum “ “
“I know what the Order is,” Lucius interrupted. “Continue.”
“Well, I’m a member. I could pass information to the Dark Lord.”
Lucius cast his eyes towards his alcohol and lifted the mug. He took several poised sips, then set the glass back down. Then he fiddled with the clasp of his traveling cloak, and tapped his foot several times on the ground. Peter began to worry if he had said the wrong thing. Maybe he had just blown his chance.
Lucius glanced up at Peter again, and motioned for him to take the empty seat at his and Snape’s table. Peter did, with some trepidation. Lucius called Blenkinsop over for another refill, and Blenkinsop topped off both Snape and Lucius’ beers as well as Peter’s tea.
Lucius raised his newly filled mug. His eyes met Snape’s, then Peter’s. He smiled. “To the Dark Lord,” he proclaimed, and took a drink. So did Snape, who actually looked close to happy; and Peter followed suit, feeling very elated himself. He noticed Blenkinsop watching the three men, his shinning brown eyes reflecting “ he couldn’t quite say what “ rage? “ indignation? “ disappointment?
But it doesn’t matter what he thinks, Peter thought, as he gulped down another healthy measure of tea. It doesn’t matter, because finally I have found something important to do with my life.
In that moment, Peter had never seen his future so clear.