THE RATS DON'T RUN THIS CITY, WE DO

She started as Peter dropped the cigarette, clumsily scrambling on the floor to pick it up. In her brief interactions with him, she has never considered him to have a particularly nervous disposition. He was always oddly quiet, yes, but that had fit the impression she’d had of him in her head. He was a follower, content to sit back and let the bigger, braver boys take the lead. 

But nervousness didn’t befit an Auror. And like he said, they certainly worked him hard enough. Maybe it was his ‘extra-curricular’ activities that had him so burnt out. 

“Poor you,” she simpers, playing along with a small laugh, “Shame you can’t join the ranks of the professionally unemployed like me.”

“No trouble to be had when no one gives you the opportunity to cause any.“

She took a long drag on the cigarette, weighing up how best to get Peter talking. To see if he would unwittingly divulge any pieces of information he shouldn’t.

“But why don’t you get a drink with me? Then you can keep me out of trouble and you can decompress, I think you deserve to.”

Peter doesn’t really know why she’s doing this. Anastasia Nott standing about with him and smiling at him like they’ve ever been friends. He’s not sure you could even count them as aquaitances. But there’s still an instinct in him to humor her, to try and make her smile a little bit more into the space between them. 

“Now, that’s a damn shame.” He muses. “A woman should have as many chances as she likes to get herself in trouble. That’s where you pureblood folks are going wrong. Not enough nonsense, not nearly as many shenanigans as people need to get by in life. I’ve seen the consequences first hand with some of those pureblood bloaks.” He arches his eyebrow. “You know that look some of them get on their faces all the time?” He mimics Regulus’s constant frown specifically, the bored look in his eyes, the disapproving set to his shoulders. He isn’t sure of Anastasia knows Regulus, or he would have called the man out specifically. He manages to hold it for a second before he huffs out a laugh. “It’s cause the bastards never have any fun.”  

He arches an eyebrow, surprised at her suggestion. It wasn’t what he expected. Most of those who bought into the whole pureblood high society thing didn’t want much to do with Peter. He’s only ever invited to invents and things becuase Sirius wants at least three people to suffer alongside. But then again... he did want a drink, and he was intrigued by Anastasia. She had a look about her like she was trying to get something out of him, and he was happy enough to let her try. 

“Fuck, sure. Why not? Drink’s with Anastasia Nott, because that’s something I definitely do all the time.” He shakes his head with a laugh, but pushes himself away from the wall he had been leaning against. 

James is on his second rotation through the Poisoning Department, mixing with different antidotes in his spare time trying to find a better cure for the more common poisons than swallowing a bezoar, when a Healer comes to inform that one of his friends is here to see him. That he’d been injuried and taken care of by another healer while he waited. So he drops everything to head down to the break room. A developing antidote can wait, his friends cannot.

Most of the healers at St. Mungo’s know better than to let one of James’ friends walk in and not let him take care of them himself. Mostly because they’re all annoyed by how often they all seem to end up in the hospital but partially because anybody else doing it means a hovering James nearby. So it’s easier to just let him handle them when they come.  

“Got stuck in the Poisoning Department, it won’t happen again. At least Davies is pretty to look at while you waited.” James arm twitches in Peter’s direction, like he wants to reach out and grab his friend’s injured arm and double check his injuries himself. But he stops himself knowing the other Healer is more than capable. “Stabbed or cursed this time?”

.

The sight of James ia always a relief. His best friend, his guiding light in this world. James was an unstoppable force and he always made Peter feel like he could take on the world. Of course, he probably wouldn’t have to, because James would insist on doing it for him. He always struck Peter as the kind of person who would jump in front of a bullet for you, Atlas with the world carried on his back. Someone needed to take care of that man, he thought to himself. 

Peter smiles and snaps his fingers, joking smile making its way on to his face. He points at James in triumph. “Davies! That’s his name. Davies, Davies, Davies. I’m thinking of a summer wedding, for him and me.” It’s a joke, of course. He hadn’t really looked all that closely at the healer who wrapped his arm up for him and sent him on his way with a potion or two. But it was something to lighten things, to remind James that Peter would always be there to act a little bit silly, to make light of every dark corner of the world. 

“Slashing curse.” He explains, with a small smile, deftly offering his arm for James to check over if he’d like to, knowing it might calm himd own a little. James didn’t like it when his friends got hurt. “It’s the stabbing of curses, that’s what they say. Definitely hurts as much.” 

Where: Auror Offices

Who: Alice and Peter (  @pcttigrewx​   ) 

“I swear I’m not trying to butter you up.” The brunette mused, a little smirk on her lips as Alice came to a stop by her new partners desk. It was strange having a new partner after spending so many years with Caradoc. Of course, she had selfishly hoping to be paired with Frank, but she also knew that there had been no chance that she’d have been paired with her husband. But she was looking forward to a new adventure with Peter, and she was intending on starting it off in a good way. Still smirking, she placed the coffee onto his desk. It had been a tradition that Alice would get herself and Caradoc coffee’s on her way to work.

“Was a tradition I started with Caradoc….. figured it could work well for us too.”

.

Peter can’t help smiling at Alice when he sees her, taking in the smirk on her lips as she approaches Peter at his desk. In the past he would have felt bad that Alice Longbottom had been stuck with him as a partner, because in the past Peter tended to look down on himself a little too much. But he’s been working on the self-confidence thing, and he know’s that he’s a damn good auror when he sets his mind to it. He won’t be burdensome as a partner, even if he isn’t as tall and dreamy as Caradoc Dearborn was. 

Peter tilts his head. “You can butter me up a little bit, if you like. I’m very susceptible to buttering.” He takes the cup and smiles at her again, feeling the warmth of it seeping into his skin already. “No, really. It’s sweet. I’ll get yours tomorrow, okay? We can make it a tradition of our own too. But i’m going to insist on the addition of baked goods.” 

The Leaky Cauldron Sometime after Midnight Open

Mary was exhausted, but she knew that if she went straight home and got into bed, she would end up laying in bed for hours. Regardless of whether she got off shift at noon or at midnight, it was the same thing. She had just worked a nearly thirteen hour shift, and she just needed to get out of St. Mungo’s and back into things so she decided to pop into the Leaky Cauldron for a drink and some not hospital food. She had ordered a Firewhiskey and some fish and chips, and she was ready to just unwind. It always amazed her how even at midnight, the Leaky was filled with people. She had always loved the place, it had been her first introduction into Wizarding society, and there was something so…perfect about the whole place. She could sit there for hours, people watching, or sometimes she brought a book with her and she read as she ate. It had come of something of a routine, coming in after her shift, and she was glad for the routine.

She had just sat down to eat when she felt someone hovering. “Can I help you?” She asked.

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“Probably not.” Peter greeted, voice a little gruff. Mary seemed like she was in a bit of a mood, but no one could blame her for that. Peter was assuming she had just come in from work. If his own day was anything to go buy, he could imagine that she was feeling the exact same way that he was. Tired. Pissed off. A little bit too hungry to be polite company. But he fixes her with a smile, a tired one, and clinks another glass down beside her plate of food. “Y’probably can’t help me either. But mediwitches get free drinks around here, with the amount of times I need to go get patched up.” 

Mary always seemed a little bit speical in Peter’s book. Too bright for the world maybe. Like someone you needed to look at through a pane of tinted glass. She’d been the year bellow at school, he thinks. And now she was bumming around with the Orpheus gang, and that made her one of his, made her someone that needed to be looked out for. “You can rant and rave about how shit your day was if you like. If not, I’m just going to quietly sit here and stare into a bottle.” 

From an outside glance, there wasn’t much special about Peter Pettigrew. Just about all of the Auror trainees he got had outstanding grades and recommendations from all of their professors. Hell, Peter barely had the stellar recommendation part— sadly Alastor had to know because all of the paperwork ended up on his desk each year. However, what he saw from day one was someone who desired to prove themselves more than most, and that’s where Peter got Moody’s recognition. He’d pushed the man from the moment he met him— Alastor was a miserable trainer, but he figured somebody had to push them before they actually went out on field missions. Quickly learning it wasn’t that surprising, Peter handled everything that was thrown at him with stride.

The bloke might be annoying more times than not, but he certainly wasn’t the worst he had to work with. The words managed a begrudging smile out of the man given his current mood. “You can say that again,” Alastor agreed.

The next words even got a laugh. “They’re enthusiastic enough. Surprisingly for a dreary sort from them both, but we need some enthusiasm.” Said from a man who respected one, and at least was learning to trust the other. Alastor had certainly lost some of his confidence during the war over the years, but that’s where drinking helped. 

.

“Dreary. Yeah, thats the word for them.” He shakes his head, thinking about them. Regulus was sending the Orpheus Society into a frenzy these days, with all his wild ideas and wilder accusations. He had this look in his eye, Peter thought, like he was going to burn the world to the ground or die trying. “I dunno. Enthisuasm is kind of a scary look on both of them, you know? Keep feeling like they’re gonna do something crazy.” 

Something crazy was usually right in Peter’s wheelhouse. But today he just wanted to go home and go to sleep. Today he wished that none of them had ever gotten involved in this mess. But he never would have got that wish. James would haev wanted to fight no matter what anyone else did, and Peter would have followed him. 

“Please tell me you’re at least taking breaks, you know? Doing some of that self care bullshit I keep reading about in the muggle magazines.” 

Ana had been looking for Peter. Not that she was in the business of letting him know that. She could hardly make it seem like she had been waiting for him outside of work. So instead she had taken up a spot and positioned herself within his line of sight, knowing he would approach her as he always did. 

Theirs was a strange dynamic, and one Ana was still trying to work out herself. His closeness to her brother meant she knew he was a Death Eater and that was supposed to be her primary interest for keeping tabs on him. But her particular fixation on him ran deeper and lay in the connection he’d shared with her brother. Something she had not yet learnt how to define, but it felt significant enough for her to been drawn to him. Like she was tugging at a thread of a past she thought she’d lost.

“You promise?” she smiled, taking the cigarette from the packet and placing it between her lips. It was probably very true that she did look as though it was a welcome reprieve. She had certainly seen better days.

“You look in need of one too,” she said, taking in the dark circles beneath his eyes and the drawn lines of his face, “How have you been?”

.

Peter takes a long look at the woman in front of him, at the smile she fixes at him. It sends a shiver down his spine, sends fireworks sparking along an untouchable part of his brain. Familiar, that smile is. He can see it a dozen times in his head, but foggy and through a distance. He knows her. He knows her in so many ways, and he has to pinpoint it. It takes a second before he thinks: It’s Ana. 

Yeah, Anastasia Nott, his mind supplies for him. Regulus Black’s new pet project. 

But another part of his brain is saying, sister, sister, protect, you have to take care of Anastasia, don’t let anything bad touch her, keep her safe. It’s so quiet he can barely hear it, but he can’t quite ignore it either, and he drops his own cigarette. Then he has to laugh bashfully, duck down to pick it back up. He stubbs it out on the wall, because he might be a rat but he’s not about to go sticking garbage in his mouth after it’s touched the floor. “Cross my heart and hope to die.” He says, an echo of himself a thousand times over, his usual go to. If it was Sirius or Remus or James asking for a promise he would have already spit into his palm and made them shake it. 

He lights himself another cigarette, needing it too badly to go without, and finally returns her smile. He likes to smile. He’s good at it. 

“Working like a dog.” He supplies, with a shrug of his shoulders. “And with no one around to pat my head and tell me I’ve been a good boy. It’s a tough life, you know?” He arches a brow then, looking at her. 

Sirius was having a rather peaceful morning. He had the day off work, had managed to ward off a hangover that threatened to appear, and was spending his day quietly reading which was rare for him. It wasn’t often that he had quite literally nothing to do. But he needed a day to recover from the circus that is his families events. So he hadn’t planned on leaving his home or even speaking to anyone that wasn’t Remus for the rest of the day.

But then Peter walked in.

Before he even seen his friend he was rolling his eyes and put his book open faced down no the coffee table in front of him. He wouldn’t be returning to that anytime soon. He had to admit that he had been slightly worried when he hadn’t seen Peter anywhere last night. But he had been too distracted to ask either James or Remus if they knew where their rat boy was. And then the drinks had taken any thoughts of his friend from his mind completely. So seeing him now had a quick rush of relief flooding through him. Though that was quickly overshadowed by a strong sigh and mild irritation that Peter had a gift of achieving.

“You sure you weren’t there? Because that is a pretty accurate description. The only thing you’re missing was the disapproving glances from my Mother and the awkward conversations that my suggested guest list brought. But, nothing a strong drink didn’t fix.” He said with a dry chuckled and looked up at his friend with his brows slightly raised in question. “So what was more important than spending time with your friends, huh?” He asked it in a joking manner but he was just masking the fact he was disappointed. Of course, he couldn’t be completely mad. Sirius didn’t even want to go himself. But a heads up would have been nice.

.

“A gentleman never kisses and tells.” He says, and it’s a deflection, it’s something that gets him biting his own lip and wondering why he can’t just tell Sirius the truth. He should be able to look his friend in the eye and say: something really fucked up is going on, Pads. He should be able to say: I really meant to come, but then I blinked and it was the next morning. He should be able to say: I need your help. The words caught in Peter’s throat for some reason, got stuck in his chest. He couldn’t make himself say them. Maybe it was becasue none of the rest of them seemed like they were falling apart, and Peter didn’t want to be the only one struggling. Maybe it was because he could sense the disappointment in Sirius’s voice, and he hated that he was the cause of it. He shakes his head, just a little bit, shrugs a shoulder. 

“Naw, I wish. It was work, actually.” It’s a lie. A complete lie. He’s ashamed of it. He scans through his mental list of things he’s heard lately, anything he can think of to make the excuse more believble, to make it seem like he couldn’t avoid missing the part. “You hear about that poor sod who works at Borgan and Burke’s? He got offed last night. Murder, we think.” He felt himself shiver a little at the words, something slimey feeling trailing down his spine at the sound of them in the air. He doesn’t think he’s ever been in to Borgan and Burke’s himself, but he can see the kid’s face in his mind. 

Conversation with Alecto still on his mind from the night before, Alastor had barely managed to focus on any task presented to him that day. His view of things were usually very black and white, there wasn’t a middle ground, especially when a war was occurring. There was one side, and then another side. Mixing the two together— Moody never really knew what to do with shades of grey, and that’s where he seemed to be standing lately. Precariously balancing more towards the middle because he knew well enough he should probably report the Carrows, or at least Alecto, to the Orpheus Society, but he hadn’t said a word. Why? The thought of dragging the female in for questioning, or worse— depending on what would be learned, made him sick to his stomach. That was a whole thing to attempt to rationalize at another, much later, time.

Having been out of it that morning, he had forgotten to grab his second pack of cigarettes off of his dresser. Moody had smoked through what few he had well early on in the morning. Now that the day was done, he was miserable. He’d been miserable for hours, and the man made a mental note to apologize to Flint due to the fact that he’d snapped at her as he was leaving because she had the unfortunate circumstance of merely standing too close. 

“That bad, huh?” Alastor questioned, glancing over at the other. He wasn’t in too much of a mood to make conversation, but Peter wasn’t a bad lad— nor was he in any place to turn down the offer. With a nod, he takes a cigarette from the other, wasting no time lighting it to take a drag. “Thank you.”

.

Alastor Moody was kind of Peter’s hero, if he was going to get soppy about things. Al was terrifying, yeah. But he was also terrifyingly good at his job, and a terrifyingly good teacher. Moody challanged him, and pushed him to his limits, and Peter was so grateful for it he could have cried. Peter walked into day one of training, took one look at the man, and said: yeah, I wanna be just like him. The fact was though that Peter couldn’t be just like him. Because Peter was kind of a bastard, and kind of a rat, and kind of a reckless idiot. He blames it on seven plus years of indoctrination by James and Sirius. 

He’s never been the hero-worshippy sort, never made a fool out of himself becasue of it. He treats Moody with the respect the man has earned, given his position. But he’s also generally an annoyingly casual person, and he arches his brow at Moody when the man finally takes the cigarette. He watches him take a drag, and thinks for a moment. 

“Everything’s a shitshow.” Peter says, with a breath sighed out. He says it casually, however. Like a fact that he can’t deny. He even quriks a smile around the words. “C’est la vie.” 

did you hear that [ PETER PETTIGREW ] will be attending the Black Ball during the coming weekend? They recently arrived in London for the social season and we will be excited to see if they make a splash this year. I heard that they are currently working as an [ AUROR ] and that they have been quite successful. They always reminded me of [ SOFT FUR AND SHARP CLAWS, A LOVE THAT BURNS AND FESTERS, THE KIND OF GUILT THAT CAN EAT YOU ALIVE AND THE FEAR THAT CAN SPLIT YOUR SOUL IN TWO ] and I heard that they can be [ KIND + PROTECTIVE ] but also [ NERVOUS + SELF-SERVING ]. Rumor has it that they are [ EHHH?? WORKING AGAINST BUT BEING FORCED THROUGH MAGIC BULLSHIT TO HELP ] Tom Riddle, but you know that you can’t believe everything you hear. As far as I know, they are a model member of pureblood society. 

It’s been a long fucking day. Peter can’t believe how long some days can feel, even when the sun sets later and later every night. It feels like so much fo his life is slipping away from him –– in a literal sense, sometimes he blinks and feels like he’s lost hours of his time. He can’t quite stop his hands from shaking today, and he struggled through work feeling like a zombie, feeling like something was inherently wrong with him in a way he couldn’t pinpoint. He isn’t sleeping well, these days, but no one really is. 

He’s taking the chance, when he leaves work, to lean his back against the cool wall of the Ministry and light a cigarette. He only allows himself a few a day, and right now he’s savouring it. 

His spot against the wall, invisible to most muggles, seems to be a popular one. Because there’s another body leaning not far away. And Peter is too kind, and too lonely, and needs a distraction right now, so he pulls his pack of cigarettes from his pocket again and holds it out for them. “Go on, you look like you could use it. I won’t tell anyone.” 

Peter is browsing the shelves with intent, determined to find exactly the right book to buy for Remus. This is a tradition of his when he feels stressed out, finding Remus Lupin, the man who is likely his steadiest guiding light in life, and making him allow Peter to do hopelessly soppy things like buy him books and lunch. He is triumphant after a moment of searching the shelves in front of him, and grins a wide grin when he plucks the paperback from the wood it rests on, thrusting it in Remus’s direction. 

“You’re gonna love this one, Rem. Swear it. Cross my heart and hope to die. It’s by this absolute madman, okay? Named Pratchett. It’s this whack ass magical world where we’re balanced on the back of a turtle. You gotta read it. Swear you will, right? And then make Sirius read it after you. Cause like, he won’t take my reccomendations anymore for some reason. Prick.” 

The healers at St Mungos know Peter well. This is, of course, partially because he keeps doing stupid shit at work and getting himself cursed, or stabbed, or stabbed with cursed knives. Peter’s bosses like to claim that he has this thing called a ‘hero complex’. He blames it on his friends, if he’s being honest. Their need to be absolute idiots 23 hours of the day clearly rubbed off on him during their seven years at school together. And Peter has always had kind of a bleeding heart, and he was always ready to throw himself onto a livewire or right into the line of fire if it meant he could save someone, or gain a scrap of glory in the dog-eat-dog game of life.  

He was already going to St Mungo’s today to bring James lunch. A weekly tradition. It was just lucky that he got hit with a slashing curse right before break time. Now, he’s sitting in a St Mungo’s break room with a lunchbox full of his home baked cinnamon rolls and his arm wrapped up and stinning from the healing salve one of the healers had slapped on him when he got there an hour ago. He’s decidedly grumpy, and when James finally walks in he frowns. 

“You’re late. I had to let some other healer tend to my wounds, asshole. It was the big strong guy with the nice smile.” 

Peter is freaking out, minorly. Of course, he’s always in a low-grade state of freaking out these days, because the world is fucked in new and exciting ways and gets more and more fucked with every minute. Shit with the Auror’s is intense, and Peter isn’t sure why the hell he’s bothering being a magical cop working under a fascist regime, but he wants to try and help the little guy, no matter how hard it is. Of course, his friends always make him feel better. Seeing their faces always knocks the panic down a peg or two. Today, he feels the overwhelming urge to go see Sirius. Because he should have been at 12 Grimmauld Place last night, and in fact –– had even gotten dressed for the party. But when he woke up, he’d never manged to get there. His entire night has disappeared from inside his own head, and he has no idea why. 

He can’t bring himself to try and figure it out right now. All he can bring himself to do is let himself into Remus’s flat. His voice calls out before he’s even laid eyes on Sirius, but he has a hunch the man is there. 

“Hey, fuckface, sorry I missed your party. Bet it was mighty boring without me. Let me guess: rich assholes danced, J-man pined for someone from afar, and you and Remus gazed dreamily into each other’s eyes for an hour before Reginald Black Jr threatened to murder you both.”