#mr-potter

Peter: James, I think there’s a boggart in my wardrobe.

Peter: I’m really sorry to ask, but can you please get rid of it?

Peter: I… I don’t think I can.

It’d been hours. Hell, it could’ve been days with how bone tired Peter felt. He’d never been a talker but he’d forgotten how exhausting long conversations could be. After Alastor read him his situation he was left to sit on a bench in the corridor, head dropped down, hands on his knees. His grimy appearance, shoulder length matted hair and unkempt badly trimmed beard caused him to stand out against the well-kept Ministry professionals. 

His eyes were drooping closed but he forced them open, it wasn’t safe here. Hell, he doubted he’d feel safe where they put him either. He hadn’t felt safe since the Hogwarts common room, not really. God he missed the place, he missed those years, he missed-

His descent down that mental rabbit hole was brought to a stop by the appearance of a pair of legs in front of him. When they didn’t move he assumed it was the next official come to cart him off to his new ‘monitored’ apartment. With a sigh, he looked up and his tired eyes went wide. 

James. 

He looked older, so much more grown up. Peter did nothing but stare for several seconds. He hadn’t planned for this, he wasn’t supposed to be here- why? What could he say-

There was nothing. So he didn’t speak, though his breath escaped in a quiet gasp, the only sound he made. 

Minerva made a point to keep up with the news, it was easy to get left out of the loop while spending every day in Hogwarts and she detested not being up to date in the happenings of the world. Needless to say when one Mr. Pettigrew had made a miraculous (and extremely suspicious) return to wizarding society, she’d been certain it would have an effect beyond what the media reported. The whole thing left her tinged with guilt, he’d been one of her students after all; the boy had made his own bed of course but could she have been firmer? Been sharper and helped him hold true to the qualities of the house he’d been sorted into? 

Well, there was no use ruminating on such thoughts, so she focused on what could be done, checking in with the students she knew had been close the man. James and she had a closer relationship than she’d had with most other students (she and Euphemia had been friends after all) and when Harry had come along she’d taken to the boy immediately. Minerva apparated to the front gate of the charming house, a small wrapped package in one hand and walked up to the door. She rapped her knuckles sharply on the wood three times and waited. 

Moments later, James answered the door. “Potter,” she greeted with a nod, “And where is Harry?” Not a moment after she’d asked the question, a small blur shot out between James’ legs and hugged her legs. With a laugh she took the boy into her arms and lifted him up, “Hello Dear,” she tilted her cheek for a kiss and turned back to James, “Well are you going to invite me in or shall I be entertained in the doorway like a common salesman?”