it was unusual to see peter pettigrew so serious. the boy’s cheeks were empty of their usual dimples; his pale blue eyes glazed over in deep thought, his brow creased in concentration. it was if a cloud had passed over the clear blue sky that was peter’s countenance. but the cloud only stayed for a moment — in just a heartbeat he was dimpling again, running a hand through his hair in a disarmingly endearing mixture of cockiness and self-consciousness. his eyes, dancing with mischief, flicked to canvass the face of the person in front of him, watching carefully for a reaction as he clapped once and produced a worn playing card from seemingly thin air. his wand lay several feet away, merely an innocent spectator to peter’s triumph as he presented his audience with the card and an accompanying smirk. ❛ — is THIS your card ? ❜
