Peter has always been on the quieter side. Maybe not so quiet, but nicer, softer, only speaking if he’s spoken to. With James, he was fine being the smaller one, the one that would laugh at all his jokes, funny or not, and pick him up whenever he felt down. An undying, reliable, steadfast devotee. When Hogwarts rolled around and they met Lupin and Black, dynamics shifted remarkably. Remus’ lycanthropy for one, who would’ve thought he’d be practicing animagi at age fifteen. But it’s that Sirius Black that really mucked it up.

It quickly became James and Sirius, and his initial admiration ebbed away and turned into envy just as fast. The raven haired boy always seemed to take up space, turning every room upside down and leaving his fingerprints on every heart he possessed. Peter no longer felt like a devotee, but instead an accessory, unimportant and useless. Those three syllables that once brought light to his face grates his nerves. A constant refrain, Sirius Sirius Sirius. It’s selfish and petty, but sometimes he dreams of simpler times, when it was just him, and James.

The common room is hushed, confetti and candy wrappers littering the carpets, embers in the fireplace flicker gently, shifting the golden light across his face. A herbology textbook lays idle on his lap, ashy brown hair mussed and unruly. His gaze stays fixed on a sock hanging from the ceiling, a charm gone wrong he guesses. It’s quite late and he’s alone, if you ignore the cat curled up on the opposite settee. He’s alone because Gryffindor won their quidditch match today, the dorm festivities have long died down, but Sirius had offered to (sneak) take James and a couple of their friends out to Hogsmeade for a treat, even though it’s past curfew. He was invited of course, it did nothing to quell his jealousy and bitterness, that’s why he’s pretending to catch up on homework, wallowing in his self pity and feelings of inadequacy.

His woe is interrupted momentarily when you quietly bound down the stairs, accompanied by a student he knows from transfiguration. You greet him warmly, and it does somewhat lift his spirits. “What are you two up to?” he asks. “Heading into Hogsmeade” you reply “Sirius-” he fights the urge to sigh, but his eyes dart away without permission, and you catch it. He saves it- or he thinks he does, by offering a smile. “I’d follow but I'm completely swamped” he vaguely gestures to the untouched book and sealed cap of ink. “You have fun though”.