#wormtail x reader

꒰ Hogwarts Legacy ꒱

-nothing yet, keep an eye out!-

꒰ Marauders ꒱

-not quite there yet, dollies!-

꒰ Barbie ꒱

-you'll have to wait to see something!-

꒰ Squid game ꒱

-working on it sprout!-

[ i am not currently taking requests, sorry!! ]

"I don't really want to know what's going on," Remus had said tiredly, when Peter demanded that he try to get an answer from James and Sirius, "and I don't think you do either."

But Peter did want to know, desperately. His usually stalwart ally bailing on him only made him want to know what Sirius and James were plotting more.

Things did not look to be getting better the following morning. Sunlight streamed through the kitchen window and onto the table at which Peter sat sulkily poking at Mrs. Potter's porridge. Besides himself, only Remus was up and dressed, but he'd brought along a textbook for the coming year to stick his nose in so that he could avoid Peter's increasingly desperate questions about their other two friends.

"Good morning, gentlemen!"

Speak of the devils. James and Sirius themselves paraded into the room, freshly showered and dressed and grinning ear to ear. It had been the first that had offered the irritatingly cheerful greeting, and the same who filled a bowl with porridge from the stove before plopping into the seat on Peter's other side.

"Beautiful day, isn't it?" Sirius asked, just as annoyingly, as he filled a waiting cup with pumpkin juice.

"I don't see what's so beautiful about it," Peter grumped.

"Well, you wouldn't, would you?" said James.

"Today's the day!" Sirius agreed as he slid into the last remaining chair at the table.

"The big one," said James. "The one that will change everything."

"And perfect weather for it, too, eh, Prongs?"

"If you aren't going to bother explaining what you two are on about, why don't you quit rubbing it in?" Remus asked without looking up from his book.

"Perfect weather for what?" Peter wanted to know.

Sirius and James caught each other's eyes in that infuriating way of theirs. They looked about ready to burst out laughing, which deepened Peter's conviction that, whatever they were doing, he was being left out on purpose again. He swelled with indignation; only a knock at the front door prevented any of the three boys from exploding.

"Would you get that, Peter?" James asked, suddenly sober.

"Why should I?" Peter replied. "It's your house."

"Yes, but I just sat down to eat. Be a mate? I'll be right behind you if it's something important."

Of course. Because if it were something important, they wouldn't bother sending Peter, would they? Muttering darkly about how James ought to get himself a house-elf, Peter got to his feet to leave the kitchen. He heard Sirius and James snickering as he turned the corner to the door and spoke a little more loudly as he reached for knob: "If I'm here to do nothing but slave away from you, I might as well just go home. It's obvious that no one wants me—"

"Hey, Pete!"

Standing in the doorway with her [color] hair illuminated by the light of the sun rising over the top of the house stood none other than James' pretty neighbor, [F Name] [L Name]. You wore sporty-looking robes and carried a broomstick on one shoulder. When Peter's eyes finally reached your face, your own [color] ones twinkled at him above a wide smile. His jaw went slack.

"Peter?" The smile disappeared at once. "Are you all right?"

"F-F-Fine!" he managed to squeak after several mortifying seconds wherein he could not find his tongue.

"Are you sure? You look...sweaty."

"I'm fine! Just fine! Did you need something?"

"Oh, I just wanted to let James know we're here. I suppose he's busy stuffing his face still. Do you mind telling him for me?"

"Of course! I'd be happy to!"

You beamed at him. "Thanks, Pete. See you soon!"

With that, you turned on your heel and hurried off toward the densest clump of trees on the Potter property. Peter watched you go with his mouth still half-open. You'd grown over the summer, hadn't you? He didn't remember your butt being quite so shapely on the ride home from school last year.

"Was that [Name], then?"

Peter yelped, spinning around to find James standing right behind him in the entrance hall. His hazel eyes crinkled into half-moons behind the lenses of his glasses as he wiped the remaining porridge from his mouth. Spotting James' familiar smug grin knocked Peter right out of his [Name]-induced trance and back into his earlier foul mood.

"What's she doing here?" Peter asked.

"Who, [Name]? She lives nearby. You know that."

"Yes. I'm not stupid. But she doesn't come to see you on the regular. Does she?" he added uncertainly.

"Jealous, Wormtail?" James replied.

"No! All I want to know is what she's doing, coming around to talk to you. That's all."

"I invited her and her brothers over for a quidditch match today.”

"What?"

James either did not notice or did not care about the panic in Peter's voice. "Oi! Sirius! Remus! Get in here!" he shouted over his shoulder.

The other two did not delay following this order. Sirius appeared almost at once, with Remus slipping quietly into the room only seconds later.

"Is it time?" Sirius asked eagerly. "Is [Name] here?"

"That was her. She and her brothers should be waiting at our usual practice pitch."

"Excellent!"

"What are you two talking about this time?" Remus said.

"Pick-up quidditch match with the [L Names]," James answered. "It's high time I had a rematch with Gideon. And no, you don't have to play, Moony. We've already said you'll referee. I know you're not up to flying today." 

James waved off Remus' gratitude before pushing open the door and leading the rest of the group around to the side of the house where the Potters kept their broom shed. Neither James nor Sirius said a word about Peter's overt seething. Not even Remus bothered to ask him what was wrong. Well, why would he? Being a werewolf got him out of all sorts, whereas a distinct lack of flying talent would do nothing for Peter. And if James and Sirius thought that he didn't spot them whispering to one another and looking back at him as the four boys walked to James' makeshift pitch, they were dumber than they thought Peter was. He knew now exactly what they'd been up to all along: planning to make a fool of him in front of the prettiest girl in Gryffindor.

Three figures awaited them in the clearing, two boys—one the same age as their group, the other one year below—and you. As the Marauders approached, the tallest of the boys stepped forward to shake James' hand.

"You took your time getting here, Potter," he said.

"Your lot had a head start—kind of like you did in the last Ravenclaw and Gryffindor match."

"You've got an excuse for every loss, don't you?"

"Only the ones I haven't earned."

While the two [L Name] brothers and the rest of Peter's friends gathered together to discuss the rules of the day's game, he stayed right at the tree line. Why bother getting any closer just to hear James and Sirius joking about his playing abilities before anyone else got to see him fly? Instead, he stared at the sun now shining just above the treetops. Blinding himself was probably the only way he'd get James to let him sit out of the proceedings, too. Besides, he and Sirius would have a better chance of winning without Peter's help.

"Hello again, Pete."

Peter gasped, started, and fumbled the broom still sitting on his shoulder. He felt himself flush and was surprised, when he calmed down enough to look his company in the eye, to find your cheeks darker than usual as well.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you," you said.

"It's—That's all right."

"Did I interrupt your strategizing?"

"Hardly." Then, just because you looked so mortified, he added, "Between you and me, I'm not really any good at quidditch."

"You're not?" you asked incredulously.

Peter shook his head, and your expression transformed into one of vast relief.

"Oh, thank God. I'm not any good either."

Now it was his turn to be incredulous. "But your dad played for Pride of Portree!"

"I know. Let me tell you, my flying abilities are a dark stain upon the family name. If I'd had any idea that James and Gideon didn't plan on keeping this match friendly—"

"Oi, Peter! Quit chatting up the enemy!" Sirius shouted.

"You, too, [Name]. Get over here," Gideon called.

You caught Peter's eye for a moment before offering him a sheepish smile and your hand. "Promise that you won't hold it against me when I fall off my broom?"

"S-sure!" Peter said as he shook your hand.

"[Name]!"

"Coming!" you said.

Off you scurried toward where your brothers stood at the other end of the clearing. Remus had already found a trunk to sit against somewhere about equally between those trees to stand for hoops. Sirius and James, meanwhile, made a beeline over to Peter. He noticed with a fierce flare of anger that the former shot an appreciative look at your backside as you hurried past him.

"Ready to fly, Peter?" James asked casually.

"Oh, go to Hell, James," Peter snapped.

"Someone's a little testy," Sirius observed. "Did [Name] already decline your invitation to join you on the first Hogsmeade weekend?"

"You can go to Hell, too, Sirius. I know what it is you two are trying to do, and I don't like it one bit!"

"And what is it that you're so convinced we're up to?" James asked.

"You want to ruin my chances with [Name]! She's pretty, and I've seen Sirius looking. One of you must like her, and—Why are you laughing at me?"

Both boys had indeed begun to chuckle. Remus glanced at them from over by his post, but otherwise said and did nothing to rescue Peter from James and Sirius' ridicule.

"What?" Peter wailed as he stomped his foot. "What is going on? What are the two of you on about lately?"

Sirius stopped grinning long enough to say, "Nothing, mate."

"Certainly nothing to do with us stealing [Name] out from under your nose," James added.

"As though either of us would have to stoop to poaching a girl you like, Peter."

"Now let's get going before Gideon accuses me of further delay tactics."

Stoop to poaching a girl he liked. What sort of backhanded compliment was that? No further word was said on the subject, as Peter was too busy fuming over it to demand an explanation. The two other boys exchanged yet another maddeningly delighted look before they mounted their broomsticks and moved to hover just beneath the tallest branches of the shortest trees surrounding them. Peter, meanwhile, wondered just how misery he would be forced to endure if he just turned around and flew back to the Potters'. Remus didn't look that tired to him—not that Sirius and James really needed a third player to trounce the [L Name]s.

Then he spotted you kicking off the ground and flying into the sky. He knew right then that he couldn't do it: couldn't simply walk away from this torture; couldn't spend the rest of the afternoon sulking; couldn't play worse than usual for the sake of ruining James' day as badly as he'd ruined Peter's. You would see right through any of that sort of behavior. If it was the last thing Peter did—and it very well could be, given James' propensity for maneuvering other players into midair accidents—he wasn't going to let his so-called friends make him look even worse in front of you.

"Heads up, Peter!" James shouted.

Miraculously, Peter caught the quaffle that sailed his way. That settled it, then. He tucked the ball under one arm, took a deep breath, and headed upwards to join the rest of his team.

The competition began. It didn't seem too fierce at first. Only the rising sun caused sweat to gather on his upper lip. Back and forth went the quaffle across the makeshift pitch. Up and down zipped the chasers in hot pursuit. Side to side bobbed the keepers in front of their tree branch goalposts. For a good half hour or so, the game went smoothly. James played well enough that Peter's bad chasing and Sirius' adequate keeping didn't hinder him at all.

The same could not be said for the opposing team. Despite having two members on active duty for the Ravenclaw quidditch team, you three just couldn't get yourselves together. You hadn't been exaggerating about your lack of flying skill; if Peter was bad, you were downright atrocious. Every single one of Remus' calls for those first thirty minutes had to do with some action by you.

And then James had to go and score.

"Ha!" he cried, as your other brother soared in the exact wrong direction to block the quaffle. "Still think your last win wasn't a fluke, Gideon?"

"No more than your goal just now. Stanley!" Gideon snapped at his keeper. "Get it together! And [Name], could you quit distracting him?"

"Yes, sir!" you squeaked.

Now your prediction came true: This was no friendly game between neighbors, not anymore. Maybe it never had been. James’ goal goaded your family into playing much more offensively. Peter was very glad that no one had thought to bring bludgers along. The intensity of the flying became such that his inability to keep up began to drain even James' talent. Despite Peter's best efforts— 

"Goal!" Gideon crowed.

Sirius had missed the throw that Peter had failed to prevent.

"Come on, Peter! You can do better than that!" James yelled.

"I'm trying," Peter said.

"Well, try harder!"

Easier said than done. The longer the game went on, the less energy Peter could muster. And why wasn't James yelling at Sirius? He was the keeper. He was the one that had let the quaffle in.

Peter tried to follow James' instructions anyway. He knew what would happen if they lost this match: James would sulk for the rest of their time at the Potters', and he, Peter, would never hear the end of how the loss was all his fault. Besides, the needling he was getting from his friends was nothing compared to the thorough reaming out Gideon gave you at the end of every play.

Unfortunately, Peter could only do so much. Each goal by one team drove the other into further frenzy. Neither stayed ahead for long. As soon as James scored a goal, Gideon did as well, and vice versa. Not a single player wanted to give up so much as a millimeter.

"Foul! Foul! Foul!" Remus called almost continuously.

No one stopped to listen to him anymore. Things in the air had turned into an all-out blitz. Sweat no longer dotted Peter's brow; it dripped down his nose and made his hands too slick to grip his broom. He could hardly see. If he had played badly before, no one could expect him to play better in this state.

"Peter! Go long!"

Apparently, James could and did. A flash of red shot into the air—high into the air. Peter obeyed without thought, following the bright color into the sky above the tallest trees. Out he reached, out and out and out until—

"Ah-ha!"

His moment of triumph lasted less than half a second. No sooner had he gripped the quaffle than did he realize his broom was no longer beneath him. In his eagerness to do something right, he'd launched himself right off the handle to catch the ball.

"Ahhhhhh!" he screamed. The quaffle dropped form his moist hands as he plummeted toward the hard earth below.

"Oh, God. Peter! I've got you!"

"Ahhhhhh!"

He had no plans to stop screaming until he died. Let the sound of it haunt Sirius and James, along with the knowledge that they'd killed him over a stupid plot to ruin his reputation with the girl of his dreams. Goodbye, cruel world! Goodbye, Remus, his only true friend! Goodbye, [Name]! If only—

"Um, Peter?"

"Huh?" He lifted his head to find himself no longer falling to his doom. Neither sky nor dirt sat before him, but instead a deep, warm shadow that proved to be someone's cleavage. No, not just someone's cleavage, he understood as he lifted his gaze higher. Your cleavage.

Somewhere below, James and Sirius hooted.

"Oh, my God. [Name]! I'm so sorry. I didn't mean—Oh, my God!"

"It's fine, Peter," you said quickly. "Honestly. But if you keep flailing around, we're both going down."

You didn't need to tell him twice. Peter froze. Just behind your back, his borrowed broom drifted slowly toward the grass. He wrenched his gaze away from that, back to your cleavage, and back to your face.

"Sorry," he said again.

"Don't apologize. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, thanks to you."

"Guess I can catch anything bigger than a quaffle. I thought we agreed that I was the one that was supposed to fall off the broom."

Someone nearby Peter's back cleared their throat. He shot up again, hastily facing forward and upsetting your balance. Your oldest brother hovered a foot or so away. The look on his face did not indicate relief at your successful rescue.

"Gideon!" you snapped as the broom wobbled dangerously underneath you.

"Do you want to quit flirting with your crush for a few minutes?" he asked instead of apologizing. "Only we're still in the middle of a game, in case you've forgotten."

Now that he had his back facing you, Peter couldn't see your reaction to Gideon's words. He could feel his own just fine, though. Heat surged through his ears so strongly that he probably resembled a Chinese Fireball. Surely any minute now you'd put your hand on his back and shove him off the broom again, and given the day he'd had, Peter could hardly expect any of his friends to catch him on the way down. Maybe that would be for the best; he wouldn't live for long knowing how much the thought of liking him disgusted you.

But you didn't push him away. What you did do was carefully direct the broom in a slow decent toward the grass below. Then you said in the coldest tone he'd ever heard you use: "No, you’re in the middle of a game. I'm done."

Gideon's eyes went wide as he followed you both downward. "What? You can't just quit!"

"Watch me. I only agreed to play because you said Peter would be here. And you know what? Ever since we came, you've done nothing but yell at me when you already knew how bad I played. Peter could have died during that little stunt, and you don't even care!"

"These things happen during quidditch games, [Name]."

"Don't you patronize me, Gid! You don't care about me sticking around. You just care about winning. Well, I don't. I'm going home for some tea."

Peter felt a vast sense of relief upon his feet touching the ground—not only because of how near he'd come to smashing into it face-first, but also because the trailing Gideon looked ready to start flinging jinxes at you and Peter if you didn't comply. Hastily, Peter dismounted your broom. You followed suit with a stony expression that said plainly that Gideon wasn't about to intimidate you back into the air.

This expression softened at once as you turned to Peter. "How about you, Peter? Do you...Do you want to come have tea with me?"

Needless to say, the last thing Peter expected after his near-death experience was an invitation to join you alone anywhere. His mouth fell open as he stared at you for the second time that day. "Huh?"

"Oh. I mean, it's all right if you don't. You probably want to stay with your friends, right? Sorry. I'll just..."

Dark-faced and without so much as finishing your sentence, you headed in the direction of your house. Not even Gideon's repeated calling of your name could get you to turn around.

"Peter, don't be stupid!" James' voice broke Peter from his shock.

"Huh?" he said again.

"Go." James motioned with both of his hands for Peter to go after you. He, of course, didn't fall off his broom in the process. "It's only fair. Gideon would be playing at a disadvantage if you stayed on the team."

Then he did something that startled Peter even more than your cold rejection of your brother's command: James winked. Peter's mouth fell open again, but for an entirely different reason. Before he could ask for clarification or even if James was sure he wanted Peter to go, Sirius bobbed up beside James and flicked his own wrist toward the opposite side of the field.

"What are you waiting for? Go have some tea with [Name]!"

Best to go before either of them changed their minds. Peter spun on his heel and rushed after you, calling your name until you turned around just before you disappeared into the trees. You grinned as you waited for him to join you. Then the two of you walked up the dirt path that led to the [L Name] house sitting on a hill in the distance.