streetrat!

BASICS

NAME: peter andrew pettigrew

AGE: 24 / has no idea when his birthday is, has never celebrated it

GENDER IDENTITY: trans male (he/they)

OCCUPATION: informant / part time worker @ small shops

AFFILIATION: marauders

HOMETOWN: new york city

RESIDENCE: new york city

SEXUALITY/ORIENTATION: homosexual/romantic

MARITAL STATUS: single

PARENTS: unknown; abandoned @ orphanage

SIBLINGS: emma vanity (formerly; WE DON’T TALK ABOUT HER)

PETS: do the rats of new york count lol

LINKS: [ pinterest ]

CHARACTER SUMMARY (FULL BIOGRAPHY HERE shh i def didn’t finish the last parts)

(tw misgendering, transphobia, abuse, jail, law enforcement)

meet peter pettigrew, the street rat of the marauder crew

peter was left in the orphanage by his mother for reasons unknown, but the most likely being that she had him out of wedlock and keeping him would ruin her reputation. it was far from being prestigious or even particularly well run, the children were mostly left to their devices, except when they were “being naughty”, then the workers took delight in doling out punishment

his birth/dead name was annie, it’s the only part of his biological identity that he knows anything about, and he only knows it because of the hastily scribbled note that was tucked into his blanket when he was abandoned: ‘take care of annie’. he knows it’s not a guarantee that his mother was the one who wrote it or that his name really is annie, but given that not beliving in it would result in him having absolutely nothing to point to his coming into being, he would rather jump to all the conclusions.

the name peter he’d taken from the bible, as he used to use in the church late at night as refuge, his surname pettigrew he had gotten from a passing englishman and he’d adopted it because of his desire at the time to be anywhere but new york. he’d even given himself a middle name, andrew, because he thought that having two “male” names would further emphasize that he was very much masculine... it’s a hard era to live in

even from a young age, he already knew that his gender identity didn’t conform to what was expected of him, and it caused the conflict that eventually saw him leaving the orphanage. it was fine for a while, dressing up the way that they told him to, doing his hair up (he used to have long, curly hair that went past his shoulders) the way that they told him to, all in the hopes that someone would want to adopt him, but it all came to a head when he was six and he found out that he was on the verge of being adopted. which wouldn’t have been a problem if it wasn’t for two things: 1) he was going to be adopted by a family outside of new york and he didn’t want to leave the city, and 2) the family wanted a daughter because all they had were sons, and peter didn’t have the heart to be a disappointment to them. he reached this breaking point where he just cut off all his hair to ruin the appeal of adopting him (he had a clean record before then), and he was punished for it. he didn’t know if it was enough to break the adoption though, so he left a few days after and was living on the streets ever since.

he went to jail at one point because of a particularly vindictive man whose wallet he nicked, only to find out that he didn’t even that much money to begin with, and the man relentlessly pursued peter being punished to “teach him a hard lesson”. it was hard for him, particularly because of his gender, and because of the experience, he tries to err on the side of caution. it doesn’t help that some... law enforcement officers don’t really like him, but he doesn’t like them either, so at least it’s mutual

he met james potter after he stole mr. rich boy’s wallet and it’s been a wild ride ever since, from being introduced to sirius and remus, to doing bootlegging with them now in the name of “helping remus”. of the marauders, peter is the most apprehensive about what they’re doing, and he thinks it’s because he’s the one who has actual experience with the wrong side of the law and what is at stake if they get caught

CONNECTIONS

date/time: march 30th, night location: the docks open

despite the fact this is where most of the dead bodies he has to dispose of ends up, amycus enjoys being at the docks. this is the closest he’s ever been to living near water all his life, and he tries to make the most of it. he still remembers the stories his mother used to tell him, the photographs she would show – she’d grown up in a little japanese fishing town, and she’d told him that when people died, they all went back to the waters. 

well, he doesn’t know if his mother is waiting for him in the murky waters near new york city, but something about being here calms him down. 

there’s no one else around, or at least he thinks, and he has managed to sneak onto one of the tiny fishing boats by the docks, if only to be able to dip his feet in the water underneath. eyes closed, he barely notices someone approaching him until he’s tapped on the shoulder, and he nearly falls forward. 

“sorry,” he says, almost instinctively, eyes going a little wide. “i’m – sorry. is this – is this your boat?” 

it was nights like these, peter realized, a bemused smile spreading across his face at the thought, that he remembered just how solitary a life he’d had, did, and likely will continue to lead. the orphanage, the streets of new york, the apartment he finally managed to afford after meeting the marauders, and now this... they were all full of blank spaces, as contradictory as that sounded, and tonight, taking a deep breath as he toed the edge of the (what he thought) empty dock, flicking tiny stones into the water and watching the ripples it caused peter felt it suited him just fine. not that it mattered, he was hardly here for leisure; these days, work took up most of his mind and time.

he wasn’t even sure if he should be relieved or disappointed at not seeing any movement around him — no late night deliveries, no clandestine pick ups, nothing — until something caught his eye, just as he stepped back and made to turn and leave... or someone apparently, judging by the now creeping feeling of eyes on him. it wasn’t trouble, or else his instinct would have alerted him before he was caught unaware, but there was still that sinking feeling in his gut, much like the last pebble that slipped in between his fingers, when he found that he recognized just who it was looking at him.

uh oh.

“me?! own a boat?! that’ll be the day,” was the quip that came out of his lips, more than a little nervous, because he’d known it was only a matter of time before his avoidance finally came to bite him in the ass... which, in this case, came in the form of a sudden gust of chilly night wind that blew at him from behind, almost pushing him towards the man in question. amycus. talk about tonight being all about work, maybe his... target could give him some information. “you’ve seen where i live, did that hovel look like the place of someone who can afford even half a boat? what... what are you even doing here at this hour?”

amycus wasn’t sure why he felt the need to defend himself against these frankly hurtful accusations, but he looked at peter with a small sigh and a shake of his head. “it wasn’t a coincidence. i heard them talking about you and i thought -” thought what, exactly? that he’d save them? that he’d come down here if only to make sure it wasn’t the peter he knew? well, that plan had spectacularly blown up in his face. 

 and the next words out of peter’s mouth made it abundantly clear that all of this had been a show, a mere pretense to try to what - get information out of him? he supposed it should’ve made him angry, but in a way, he was relieved. at least he knew, then, what kind of person he was. at least he wouldn’t have to end up confessing to his many, many crimes and undoings. well, good. now at least they knew everything about each other. 

but he still couldn’t shake off the feeling of betrayal and bitterness that crawled into his throat, especially as peter laughed, as though there was anything remotely funny about this predicament they were in. 

“a marauder. i heard - i heard them talking about you. never thought anyone would be stupid enough to actually come after the death eaters. you don’t understand, they’re - we’re not good people.” he frowned, looking back again even if he knew the door was shut. 

“and you know what - i didn’t know, okay? i didn’t know that they were doing any of this - they don’t tell me anything, peter - if that’s even your name. i’m not anybody important.” and wasn’t that the damning truth? perhaps that was what stung the most - that peter had only talked to him because of the people he was associated with and he couldn’t even - he couldn’t even be a somebody. “so. i guess you should’ve gone after somebody else. next time, tell your brother to do a little more research.” 

the unsaid hung in the balance, and maybe it was because his mind was already running on overdrive from panic and adrenaline, but in his head, peter started listing the myriad of things amycus’ statement could have ended with: thought i’d get a hit in first, thought i’d say goodbye and good riddance before they killed you, thought i’d let you know everything that ever happened was an illusion and you are nothing but a sad, sad fool. against the fear of what could be about to happen to them, it was easier, kinder to his fraying peace of mind to focus for now on this than at the fear that this could be the end of him and remus.

“what about how i look right now made you think that i or we,” he looked briefly at remus, concern furrowing his eyebrow at his friend’s unconscious state, before turning back to amycus. “were going after the death eaters? they attacked us, they took us. yeah, i’m dumb about a lot of things, amycus, but i don’t joke about my survival.” or at least he didn’t before, back when it was just him and his wits on the streets, back before all this bootlegging bullshit and marauders mess.

the only sound that came out of peter as amycus spoke was the echoing resonance of a hard swallow. what a difficult confrontation and revelation to finally have, and in such a different scenario to do it in, but somehow, he believed. peter had used they in reference to the death eaters subconsciously, because in the back of his mind, he knew that amycus didn’t know, wasn’t a part of this: why hadn’t he taken peter then when they were in his apartment and he was sound asleep next to amycus? or at the gala, in the empty room, just the two of them? his guard was let down always around this man, even with the knowledge that he was a death eater, and yet he had never been anything but gentle and kind.

before he knew it, tears were stinging the back of his eyes, hot and wet and simply there, him unable to wipe them away since his hands were bound, tears brought about by this mixture of embarrassment at having been caught in his lies, and of being so weak and still trying to act so tough, but clearly the facade was failing now. since he didn’t know how much longer he had with life, peter wanted to cling to the one person who could be his sole witness, a lone source of comfort for his last night on earth. “i didn’t tell them anything,” was his reply, desperate sounding in its attempt to convince amycus in its simple truth, and because he wanted it to be known before he was gone. “all the things you told me, everything about you, they don’t know. it was just me, just peter, nobody else. should know before i...” somehow it was harder to form full and coherent sentences when faced with impending death, who knew? maybe amycus wasn’t important to the death eaters, but he sure as hell was important enough to peter for him to have lied to his friends about the man and, in turn, to have given amycus nothing but his truth, even as it all was clouded by the falsehood of his initial intentions.

Emma had kept enough of an eye on Peter to know what he had gotten up to; after all, it was hard to avoid the gangs when they seemed to run New York. Often, she tried to avoid the uglier sides of the Death Eaters, and since Orion had passed, she felt as if she was only part of the group for Narcissa’s sake. None of this kept her from hearing the whispers about the horrors happening in the Black’s basement. She wasn’t foolish; she knew exactly how the group got most of their information. It was a nasty way of making a living, and she was ever so thankful she could rely on easier jobs. 

However, when she heard whispers of a Peter that was being kept, being tortured for information, she couldn’t help but be curious. She normally wouldn’t dream of stepping foot in the basement, especially when God knows what was happening below ground, but she had to see for herself. The man curled up on the ground, knocked out cold, perhaps should have tugged at her heartstrings. She could see the cuts and bruises marring his body, the labored breathing even in his sleep. 

A thought echoed in her mind: she could leave right now. There was nothing saying she had to speak to Peter ever again. She refused to have blood on her hands, and the Death Eaters had far more influential ways of getting information out of their two prisoners. She was sure, after a time, they both would become just two more bodies in the river. But she had come with a plate of food in one hand, a glass of water in the other, and she figured she should at least say something to the man. “Wasn’t sure you were going to wake up,” she said, her eyes taking in the pathetic sight in front of her. “I wasn’t sure if they were feeding you,” she continued, her voice wavering as she set the plate beside the man. “I didn’t know you already had company,” she said, her eyes falling on the other figure who seemed to be out cold. 

“not gonna lie to you, ems,” peter started to reply, smiling at his own use of a pet name he knew she’d hate, coming from him, before falling into a fit of coughing that was followed by a short bout of hacking, all punctuated off by him needing to spit up blood to the floor. it was a disgusting practice, and one that he normally wouldn’t engage in in private property, but there already was a small pool of blood around him, it hardly made any difference if one speck more would be added to it. after all, most of it was his: peter had taken to being more vocal and more aggressive than he would have in such a hopeless situation, all in the hopes of drawing the violence away from remus. “was kinda hoping i wouldn’t if this is still what i was gonna come back to... and now you’re here too, what a treat.”

his eyes darted to the plate and glass she placed next to him, and in that short moment where emma had to bend down to pass it over, peter took the opportunity to see for himself the truth behind her visit: surprising even himself with the speed, his arm darted out, ignoring the pain that it made run though his torso, just so he could clamp a hand on her wrist and hold her in place, enough so he could look into her eyes. that same steely coldness, making recognition but refusing to acknowledge it all the same. there was no sympathy there, only pity and disgust, making peter glad that when he released her, there was a red imprint of his hand on her arm.

good. she made her bed with demons, now she had a mark to prove it, to show that she had seen what they were doing, was aware of who suffered, and had done nothing against it.

trigger warnings for torture, violence, blood, gore, suicidal thoughts

it truly was one thing to have lived the entirety of his life always with the looming, invisible fear of death — from hunger, from crime, from disease, from poverty — and to have it be so tangibly close that it practically clung to his skin now as much as his shirt did... if it could even still be called that, unsalvageable amidst the caked and dried up blood, sweat, tears, and spit all intermingled on its surface. sleep hardly came to him now and when it did, it was merely brought about by beating after beating until the darkness along the periphery of his eyesight closed in and shut down his body, gasping at straws for rest, for a chance to breathe and function before once more going through the same motions, being asked the same questions:

where do you get your goods? who helps you, who works for you? who do you supply?

on and on and on, cut only by threats that peter found himself wishing they’d just follow through on because if they didn’t, he might as well take matters into his own hands just so he could be free of this. there was a sharp kick to the leg of his seat followed by another one to his knee when that failed to wake him finally made him stir, looking around groggily through stinging eyes for the culprit. with the black surrounding him, it was hard to tell, he didn’t even know if he was being tortured by the same one person or the whole gang of death eaters, who knew with them...

but that scent. he didn’t know if it was because of their last encounter at the boulevardier or if it was something that had been stashed to the back of his memory after their fallout, but peter was sure he recognized her by the smell of her alone, that heady mixture of perfume and what he could only assume was arrogance and anger made manifest. or maybe he was just imagining her there, because who else would show up to make him sink even further when he was already at his lowest point?

“so... d’you come here often?”

as far as introductory lines went, peter’s was far from original, and hardly the most engaging, but it was difficult, what with his line of work and the constant uncertainty that accompanied it, for him to feel normalcy or some semblance of it, and act in the same measure — the higher the marauders climbed and the more that they did, the greater the risk, so nowadays he found himself questioning each new person that crossed his path and stayed there.

rabastan was... an outlier, for what valid and practical reasons, he didn’t know (there were none); maybe it was nothing more than the desperation in peter to make a friend outside of the messy, bootlegging world, someone who could let him know if the grass was greener on the other side so he could actually consider jumping the fence towards it. their first meeting was fine enough, but even then there was the dull clanging of alarm bells in the back of his head warning him against something, the subtle offness of this man with his charming smile and nonchalant attitude… and he’d ignored it then just as he ignored it tonight, sharing drinks and conversations with the same man at the same speakeasy they’d had their first encounter at. by the time he was ready to leave, the slightest buzz was coiling around his head, and he was eager to simply go home, fall into bed, and sleep till noon the next day.

“you heading out?” he asked gruffly, pushing his empty glass up the bar and getting to his feet, ready to leave. it was a habit of his to walk the city streets alone, lost in thought and memory, but he could sacrifice one night of that to walk with a... friend? acquaintance? as peter held open the door for him, he thought that maybe this would be his chance to get to know rabastan further, see if a friendship really was possible.

amycus physically cringed when peter began to yell what he could only assume was his friend’s name, and he froze in place for half a moment before the whiplash of peter accusing him of having done something to “remus”, as though he hadn’t just gotten there himself. 

“stop yelling!” he hissed, looking back quickly once to make sure nobody else would be coming and locking the door behind him. “i didn’t do anything to anyone, but if you don’t keep quiet, they’re going to come back down and do god-knows-what to you, okay?” 

breathe. breathe. 

he closed his eyes for a second, trying to organize every bit of information he had in his head into one coherent thought. of course the death eaters weren’t above murder, and there were many who’d gone missing under their hands, but this was still a risk, wasn’t it? there was always the possibility that the police would become involved or worse yet, someone would come looking for them - so bringing them here had to be worth all that risk, somehow. 

which could only mean that peter wasn’t quite who he thought he was. 

“…who are you?“ amycus managed, after a moment, only to realize that he’d offered him a vague, foolish question. “i mean - why would they want you here? and who is - who is this?” he asked, eyes briefly shifting to remus’ figure. 

for a second, peter did genuinely believe that amycus was the one who had done it, that perhaps the other had known all along about his true occupation, and was lulling him into a false sense of security, only to have someone later snatch him away so he could be confronted with the cold, hard truth...  but then there was worry there, laced within the urgency of his admonishments, that had him reconsidering his stance. besides, he couldn’t have been that great an actor to have faked what had transpired between them at the gala, right? that electric feel...

“so it’s just a coincidence that i get dragged to hell and the first person i see is you?” peter wanted the question to come off as accusatory, yet it seemed that more than anything, he was asking for reassurance, a confirmation that it was, in fact, nothing more than a horrible trick that fate had laid out for the two of them, a moment of revelation amidst all the chaos that already surrounded him. one less thing to worry about now, at least, that was a comfort... now if only he knew for sure that he would survive this for that to even matter at all.

“i know you’re a death eater,” in that regard, the disdain didn’t have to be coaxed, it came out willingly, especially now in the face of what they had done, of what more they were willing to do now that he and remus were trapped in a practical no man’s land. “i know you do things for them. maybe you’re not assigned to the fucking kidnapping department, but you’re here, with us... so you do something i don’t even wanna think about.”

“Oh, Peter, you’re too kind,” Celestina said, a laugh falling from her lips. She had become fond of the man, as she had many of the regular patrons at the Boulevardier. Though she knew that it was foolish to assume no one here was involved in the gangs, she felt a bit safer in the knowledge that it was a neutral space. If Peter was involved in anything, she hadn’t heard even a whisper about it, and perhaps that’s how she wanted it to stay.

“Everyone thinks my life is so exciting, hm? I haven’t been up to much of anything this week, though it is quite nice to see you,” she said with a gentle smile, “Do you need another drink?” she asked, nodding to the mostly empty glass.

even the sound of her damn laughter was like music to his ears... did everyone hear it like he did or was it just him, riding on some kind of high with the way that he worshipped her very presence? it wasn’t that she was famous though, no, it was the fact that she was famous but remained humble and kind through it all that peter could fawn and awe the way that he did... otherwise, a certain she-who-must-not-be-named, the bane of his existence and the scourge of his past, would be up there with celestina.

“how is it not exciting? everyone knows who you are, everyone loves you!” maybe it said more about him than it did about her, that these were his standards for measuring how well one was doing in life... although it didn’t really matter to him, glory and recognition, but the adoration, the support... it would be nice to have that unconditionally and with some security for once in his life. “you probably see hundreds of people every week, seeing me’s really like nothing, i bet.” as she gestured to his drink, peter seemed to suddenly remember that he even had one in the first place, finishing it off with a flourish before smiling back at her. “only if you want to deal with me blabbing on and on... which i guess is what’s already happening, but it’s gonna be at least... twice as worse, fair warning.”

date: june 20th, 1925. location: black estate, basement.  status: closed to @strcetrat

they’d told him that he should get ready for another job, soon. he knew what that meant - get your tools. generally, he preferred not to linger on the details like who it would be he’d be getting rid of, what they’d done. and this time was no different, except he’d overheard someone mention short curly hair and the whispered name that sounded vaguely like peter and it instantly told him that something was very, very wrong. 

now, he wasn’t usually the kind of person to rely solely on his gut feelings, but he found himself heading downstairs anyway under the guise of grabbing the necessary equipment, 

but nothing could have truly prepared him to actually run into one peter pettigrew at the basement of the estate, because well - didn’t this change everything? 

anger would (should) have been his first response, but it wasn’t exactly what came to him when he saw the state peter - and his friend, that he surprisingly recognized from the gala - was in. 

“what did you do?” he hissed, “you can’t - why are you here, peter?” 

why are you here, peter?

amycus threw the question so close to him, and with such an urgent tone, there should really be no other recourse for him than to hear it in its entirety, but he might as well have been stuffed in an airtight box, promptly sealed and thrown into the deepest depths of the ocean, for the way that the inquiry seemed almost leagues away, processed by his brain as nothing more than this muffled, hollow sound not even the smartest of minds could have made sense of... and peter was clearly no genius, judging by the way that he had managed to land himself in this situation.

apparently this was what one got when they agreed to go for a drink with someone they thought was genuinely trying to strike a friendship: accosted at a dark alleyway, threatened with a knife, half suffocated with a hood, and transported to what peter could only suppose was the lobby to the actual gates of hell, through which he was likely on the verge of crossing, because he certainly could not imagine a way that he was going to get out of this mess. there was something all too sinister about the dark and damp, and the ringing that now surrounded him... or maybe it was just the aftermath of having been hit around the head a few times (intentionally or not, he couldn’t tell since he couldn’t see a damn thing) and then finally having the hood ripped off of him when he was seated on and tied up to a chair, leaving him in this disoriented state that was further deepened by the fear that now triumphed over any other emotion.

“w-what?” came the reply finally, struggling to make sense of his surroundings and find the face that came with the voice, but his head only had to make a slight twist before his eyes caught sight of the figure next to him; even with the drooped head and the unconsciousness, in an instant he could tell it was remus, and despite his sense of self preservation telling him to worry about his own well-being, in an instant rage surged through him. what the fuck had they done to him?!

“remus? remus? remus!” it was no use, his friend was out cold for now, which meant... there was someone else. like a lion trying to spot its prey, peter’s head shot around, noticing for the first time that amycus was there and... fuck, amycus was there... and amycus was the only one there, which meant... more problems, but not the most pressing one by far.

peter was dragging his feet. he wasn’t even aware that it could be used idiomatically, because his was an act that was done quite literally and deliberately, making what should have been a quick, less than ten minute trip over to the bookstore last to a quarter of an hour, choosing to traverse further down alleys in an effort to stave off the inevitable. besides, the walk was helpful in settling the pit of anger that still resided in his chest, the one that questioned why it was that james had taken the file at all when he’d been open about his reluctance to engage in such a shady deal, the one that worried that whatever favor was asked of them would be so much heftier than the information they gainged in exchange; not to mention the fact that they’d now placed themselves in even shakier ground with them snaking their way into the precinct and sirius actually taking the switchblade from the evidence locker... it was all moving too fast, with no hints of slowing down after BCJ finally put out the call for his repayment.

considering his adamant protest against their recent actions, peter wondered just why the hell he’d chosen to be the responder for the marauders: was it because he was the one who coincidentally got the message? or was it an attempt to prove whether he was right or wrong with his misgivings? the only way to get an answer would be to finally face the man, stepping through his bookstore with unknowingly wide eyes. this was a place that no one would have expected to see peter, that was for sure. walking around through the rows, more so to check if there was anyone else there and satisfied that there wasn’t, he slowly headed over to the front desk, where his target was situated, in waiting or not, he couldn’t really tell. “so...” was he supposed to just go out and say it? what the hell do you want? sure, that’ll get them off to a great start. “what’s a book you’d recommend to someone who’s probably got the reading ability of a nine or ten year old, maybe a little less?” he grabbed a random book from the counter, one that simply had peter and wendy emblazoned on the cover. it didn’t really matter, it wasn’t what this encounter was about. “this good?”

date: june 1925 location: the boulevardier  availability: closed to @strcetrat

There was an inherent sense of calm in the Boulevardier, one that she hadn’t found in the other bars she had visited since her return. Of course, there was still a lively crowd and a singer beyond compare onstage, but she felt as if she couldn’t get into as much trouble at a bar known for its neutrality. She’d become used to seeing some of the regulars, and wondered when she herself would be considered one. 

It didn’t take her long to grab a drink from the bar, and wander over to a mostly empty table. Empty save for Peter, a somewhat regular patron she had spoken two a few times before. “Hello, darling!” she greeted as she sat down beside him. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it? How’s your week been?”

even as it happened again... and again... and again... peter still couldn’t quite wrap his head around the fact that he was on speaking terms with none other than celestina warbeck! didn’t she know that she was a famous singer?! by this time though, the initial fawning adoration had died down, more so because she had an aversion to it and had asked him not to, and he would hate to scare her off completely. there was still giddiness bubbling from deep within him that had him smiling widely and hanging unto absolutely every word that was aimed at him, gesturing to the empty seat even as she was already moving to take it.

“my week? oh, it’s been...,” terrible. i have no idea what’s happening with my friends, everything is confusing and messy, recently reconnected with a man i’ve been avoiding for his own good... it would be easy to bombard her with the truth, but the truth, even called that, didn’t make any sense, and at the boulevardier with a drink in him to a relative stranger who wasn’t part of the gangs was hardly the ideal place to start untangling the mess. “uneventful. i’d say this is about the high point of it, having you drift down my way. i imagine yours is much better.”

She took the vase from Peter with a grateful smile, carefully placing it on the table and setting the bouquet from Peter in there. Minnie took a moment to carefully adjust the flowers and where the stood, her mind only half focused on task. Peter was dear to her in a way that sometimes was hard to place-she had never had children, it hadn’t ever worked out for her and her late husband, and that wasn’t really something she regretted, but moments like this she couldn’t help but wonder. Would she have felt towards any children she might have had the same way she feels about Peter now? Minnie knew herself well enough to know that she wouldn’t handle it well if anything happened to Peter or disrupted his presence in her life. This routine of theirs had been going on for years now, and it was always a high point of her week when she got to see Peter.

Minnie tsked lightly at his stumbling over her name, the tone of it more teasing than anything. “We’ll get you finished with this Mrs. McGonagall sooner or later. Though I’m glad you’re fond of my given name-I’ve always been quite partial to it myself.” She paused, eyeing him up before she sighed, asking, “It’s probably too much to ask to ever get you to call me Minnie, isn’t it?”

It was with a critical eye that she watched how much food he had put on his plate. She had rather hoped he’d take a bit more, but she did have dessert in the oven, and she was sure she could send him home with a decent portion of the leftovers if she pushed the issue. “I’m glad to hear that, Peter, it’s good for you to stay out of trouble,” she said rather primly. Peter’s eyes were on his food as he had told her that, which didn’t inspire much faith in what he was saying. “But you know if you ever get into any, you come find me, okay? Doesn’t matter what it was, I want to help you,” she insisted. “Honestly? Rearranging furniture sounds much more interesting than the NYPD. Lately it’s just been a lot of paperwork, reviewing case files, that sort of thing. Nothing too fascinating.” 

as much as he looked forward to these visits, it didn’t stop the twinge of guilt that always blossomed in his chest when he shared minerva’s company: the two had met under extraordinary circumstances, with him behind bars and her surveying his sad attempt at portraying himself as bigger and older than he really was. the streets had matured him quickly, but it was no question that he was on a downhill path with the trajectory that he was going. minerva had seen something in him, something he never could understand, never could manage to ask her about, and had taken the risk of inviting him into her home after his weekend stint in their precinct was over. it mirrored today’s visit, except he was grimier then, smaller but trying to appear stronger, on alert in case it was a trap. still, he’d brought flowers then too, smaller, less colorful, stolen from someone’s windowsill, something to soften the edges that he imagined minerva saw him with. after all, he was, as petty as his crimes were, a criminal.

and everything else, as they say, was history.

“your parents are real good with the name picking, minerva’s a pretty bad ass name. dunno what it actually means though, maybe something about like... the heart or something, cause minerva, nerves....” he let his words empty out into the wind, a little embarrassed now that he’d even said anything at all. it was impossible that minerva actually had anything to do with nerves, and he didn’t know jack shit about what or where names came from. he knew where his did, but that was because he’d chosen it for himself. “if that’s what you’d rather i call you, then i haven’t got a problem with that.” minnie. it was so... familiar, and familial, and such an intimate request to make of someone who was, essentially, a stranger to minerva’s life. as such, it weighed heavy on peter’s chest, and left him feeling just a tad bit emotional about the whole affair. “do i... do i also call you that when we’re out there where other people could hear? they might find it weird, me calling you minnie.” he jabbed a thumb to a window. he didn’t want to mar her reputation by having her associated with the likes of a nobody like him.

“If I remember correctly, you’re the one who sat down and started insulting me,” Emma said, her eyes falling down to the table they shared. She wondered if this would be the end of their interactions; the man had only made the mistake of showing up to one premiere, and she surely wasn’t going to return to the Boulevardier anytime soon. With Peter’s cold remarks and Amycus’ interrogation, she had her fill of the regulars who seemed to frequent this bar, and she wasn’t sure why she thought it a good idea to visit in the first place. “Your friends? You mean your silly little bootlegging group that’s never going to amount to anything?” she said, figuring if he was going to fit in so many jabs against her character and her lack of real friends, there was no point in sitting and taking every insult. 

“I’m not sure what you thought would happen when you showed up. No one in their right mind would have let you into the premiere,” she said, choosing to ignore the fact that he kept saying he didn’t care about her, not anymore. If he didn’t care, why was he so insistent on sitting here and insulting everything about her? “You don’t belong in my world, Peter. It’s a sad truth, but you’ll never get there if you keep spending time with the delinquents you call your friends.” Perhaps some of what he said had a sliver of truth: there were fewer people now that she could trust, though she didn’t see why that was a terrible thing. It was a dangerous world, New York, and she had the people on her side that she needed. If that didn’t include Peter anymore, then so be it. 

“I suppose you can continue to keep telling yourself that, hm? That you’re not jealous of any of it? We came from the same place, Peter, and if you worked a little harder, maybe you’d be in a better place too,” she said, her lips curved upwards in her signature sickly sweet smile. “If you think that tearing me down with useless words is going to do anything, you’re sorely mistaken. I feel sorry for you, Peter, I really do,” she hissed, knowing their little interaction was sure to come to an end relatively quickly. Hadn’t he said enough?

you started it! was how emma’s words sounded in his head, small and belligerent, and adamant to foist off any sense of responsibility for her actions or her words from herself. for only a second, peter’s mouth opened, a litany of her past offenses just begging to be told, but what was the point of talking to someone who was essentially a child, in his eyes? glad as he was that she had gotten out of the streets when she did and made a life for herself, he half felt that it was a loss too, on her part, because perhaps just a little while longer there, and she would have gained some maturity enough to understand that as much as she painted her callousness now as a means of survival, it never would be justified, and he would never accept it: survival would have been if she had asked him to stay away, if she had been kind enough to say goodbye, but to have taken the route that she had, so degrading and unnecessary, anyone in their right mind would see that she meant more to cut him down and erase him, to be as cruel as possible, continuing that thread even until tonight.

so then what else was there to say? nothing at all, they could not be salvaged and peter had finally reached that point of accepting that there was no need or want in him to. emma would simply have to be nothing more than a footnote in his history, a mere minor character that he had outgrown – he was sure that if she knew he had relegated her to such a position, she would throw a tantrum aligned to the kind of diva she now held herself to be - and should their paths cross once more as they did now, he would know better than to try and engage her in another conversation: trying to make a person who was so selfish and self-centered as emma understand that he centered his life wholly on the people that he cared for, that prestige and wealth meant very little to him if it meant they would not be on that same pedestal with him, was pointless, he would much be better off be talking to a wall, the wall at least had more to contribute to society and was actually pleasant company.

“well, getting to to watch you live so deep in the delusion that you have created about yourself has been… fun,” he said with a shit eating grin that broke into a sarcastic chuckle at his inability to hold back his amusement at the entire charade that emma was playing, how pitiful it was to be one so well loved by the public but be so rotten on the inside. at least she managed to be honest about some things: he really didn’t belong in her world, because it was purely fantasy where she lived. “but if you’re that set on only hearing your own lies, what more is there for me to say other than... good luck with all your future endeavors…?” of course, it was a hollow show of support, he would relish it if everything came crashing down around emma and she was finally forced to face all her falsehoods, so the tone of uncertainty worked in his favor. “you know, i’m actually glad that you feel sorry for me… at least that way i know that you actually still feel anything at all, because i was starting to think that you’ve really sold your soul to the devil for a bit of fame and money.”

he wanted so badly for tonight’s visit to james’ apartment to be nothing more than one made out of friendship, a desire to simply spend some time together, but it seemed that ever since the marauders became more than just a group of friends, every sense of normalcy had been thrown out the window in favor of… courtesy calls and discussions about the steps the group took moving forward, some of which had been weighing heavy on peter’s shoulders for quite some time now. from the moment that they agreed to go into bootlegging, peter became acutely aware that the line between just that and a full fledged gang was so thin, it may as well not be there, and now, for some reason, this mysterious “benefactor” considered them enough of one, barely shy of a power player in the games new york was playing, to make them  an offer of a dubious file that would have them  indebted to do god knows what (but peter would bet his ass it wasn’t anything good).